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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29843085">All Good Things Come In Threes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niphredilien/pseuds/Niphredilien'>Niphredilien</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dwarves, Dysfunctional Family, Grief/Mourning, Injury, Sibling Love, Silm Triplets AU, Silmarils, The Arkenstone - Freeform, failing marriage, the sea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:34:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>20,844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29843085</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niphredilien/pseuds/Niphredilien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Fëanáro. Have you finally decided to grace us with your presence?”<br/>He steps forward to take Nerdanel’s hand excitedly.<br/>“You know how you always wanted a daughter?” </i>
</p><hr/><p>The Silmarils are not simply pretty gems in this world.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Daeron/Maglor | Makalaurë, Eärendil &amp; Elrond Peredhel &amp; Elros Tar-Minyatur, Eärendil/Elwing (Tolkien), Fëanor | Curufinwë/Nerdanel, Maedhros | Maitimo &amp; Maglor | Makalaurë, Maglor | Makalaurë/Maglor's Wife, Nerdanel &amp; Sons of Fëanor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Nerdanel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello all!</p><p>I am procrastinating writing Caranthir's day in Fëanorian Week by instead being very inspired by <a href="https://ibrithir-was-here.tumblr.com/">ibrithir-was-here</a> on Tumblr. They have the most amazing AU where the Silmarils are actually three little girls and it is the most amazing thing and I love it so much so I naturally had to write something for it instead of inundating them with asks on the subject. I highly, <i>highly</i> recommend checking them out.</p><p>I did change Eabariel's name to Eäraniel just because I couldn't find a satisfactory way to translate traveling into Sindarin so I changed it to wandering.</p><p>As always, thank you <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacat3/pseuds/oliviacat3">oliviacat3</a> for beta'ing.</p><p>And I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Formenos is a bustling hive of activity.</p><p>There are streets filled with people, bright and colourful markets, a sort of organised chaos that Tirion just doesn’t have. A beautiful sort of chaos that inspires art and beauty in a way that you can’t get otherwise.</p><p>Nerdanel tries to convince herself that coming with her husband and her sons was the better choice than returning to her father in Aulë’s halls.</p><p>She is a good mother and a good husband and will follow them just as her wedding vows decree (even if, sometimes, she thinks that Fëanáro wouldn’t follow <em>her</em> anymore).</p><hr/><p>Nerdanel slams the door of her studio shut, her fury simmering under her skin as she leans against the wood.</p><p>Fëanáro is a fucking bastard.</p><p>She exhales shakily, trying to let out some of the burning anger, and pushes herself upright, turning to the stone that stands untouched in the centre of the room. It is a slightly off-white and looks similar to marble, except harder and with veins of what appear to be silver running through it.</p><p>It is neither marble nor silver; Nerdanel has tested smaller lumps of it.</p><p>A curious rock she found while out hiking a few weeks prior. Always one for testing something new, she had had it brought here and was going to create something when she had an idea.</p><p>She hadn’t before now.</p><p>Somehow, being absolutely furious at her husband sparks <em>something</em> in her mind, just like how she used to be inspired by his eccentricities and the love and wonder he had for everything around him.</p><hr/><p>The door of Nerdanel’s studio bangs open and she sighs, placing her chisel in the pocket of her apron and pulling her goggles up onto her head.</p><p>“Come in!” She says sarcastically, standing and moving away from her half-finished sculpture.</p><p>“Nerdanel.”</p><p>Her husband’s eyes are wild and fey and not at all like the elf she married but there is a bright grin on his face that is. This inability of his to decide whether he will be the person she loves or not is beginning to tear at her nerves.</p><p>Nerdanel rolls her eyes, putting one hand on her hip and keeping the other on her chisel. “Fëanáro. Have you finally decided to grace us with your presence?”</p><p>He steps forward to take Nerdanel’s hand excitedly.</p><p>“You know how you always wanted a daughter?”</p><p>She pulls her hand out of his grasp, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Yes. But I told you, I am having no more-”</p><p>“No, no. I came up with a solution! Come with me!”</p><p>Her hand is grabbed again and he begins pulling her down the corridor.</p><p>She is curious as to what it is that has got him so worked up and slightly worried that she will have to do damage control so she lets him drag her through the corridors of Formenos, down towards the forge.</p><p>It is late in the evening and so the communal forges are rather quiet, with only one or two apprentices looking up curiously as they stumble past. Fëanáro tugs her into his private forge and the air is pierced by the cry of a child.</p><p>“Oh sweet Eru,” Nerdanel exclaims, running forward to pick up one and then two of the crying children. “Did you <em>steal</em> some babies?”</p><p>“No!” Fëanáro looks offended, picking up the last and shushing her gently. “I made them.”</p><p>Nerdanel blinks and looks down at the two girls who have calmed down in her arms.</p><p>“You…what? You can’t just <em>make</em> children!”</p><p>Fëanáro glowers. “I don’t see what the big deal is. You always said you’d like a girl or two and now you do.”</p><p>“Yes, but I would have liked to have been <em>included</em> at least!”</p><p>“You were!”</p><p>“In what world?”</p><p>“I can’t just create flesh out of nothing! I used the sculpture of the triplets you made last year.”</p><p>“You <em>what</em>?”</p><p>One of the babies in Nerdanel’s arms begins to cry and Nerdanel has to quiet her gently, all the while desperately wanting to yell at Fëanáro.</p><p>How dare he? How <em>dare</em> he?</p><p>“Let’s put them to bed,” She says, aware of the quiet threat in her voice. “And then we need to talk.”</p><hr/><p>The door to the nursery – still undisturbed since the Ambarussar were born – shuts with a soft click and Nerdanel turns on her husband.</p><p>It is to some satisfaction when he actually looks momentarily scared and takes a small step backwards.</p><p>“What, on all of Eru’s green earth, were you <em>thinking</em>, Fëanáro Curufinwë Finwion?”</p><p>“You wanted daughters.”</p><p>“Yes, I wanted daughters!” She advances threateningly on him. “But not…not like this!”</p><p>“Why not?” Fëanáro genuinely looks confused and Nerdanel has to take in a few steadying breaths to stop herself from screaming.</p><p>“Why <em>not</em>?” She rubs her forehead. “I wonder why, let me <em>think</em>. Firstly, you stole one of my creations. You <em>stole</em> something of mine. You didn’t borrow it – you had no intention of returning it and you can’t now. How dare you think that you had <em>any</em> right to it?”</p><p>Fëanáro winces slightly before his face settles in a scowl. “But-”</p><p>“Secondly,” She continues loudly, cutting him off. “Did you have <em>no</em> thoughts for how this will be viewed by the Valar? You created <em>life</em>, Fëanáro. From nothing – or at least that’s how they’ll see it!”</p><p>“Nerdanel-”</p><p>“And thirdly, you made us children <em>without even consulting me</em>! I’m their <em>mother</em> and you just stand there as if me having no input into the creation of life I am mother to is completely insignificant!”</p><p>“You had an input! Why do you think I chose <em>that</em> sculpture? You’ve made loads of statues of babies and children but that one – that one had your spirit in it, in a way completely different to the rest of your art!”</p><p>Nerdanel gapes. “What are you talking about?”</p><p>“I was making gems, Nerdanel, with the light of the trees in them.” He steps forward to take her wrist, staring at her with a light of madness and joy in his eyes. “I was walking through your gallery the other day, on my way back from studying the light, when I saw that sculpture of the three babies in the cradle and I could feel <em>you</em> in it. It was intoxicating and it gave me that…inspiration to finish the gems. I <em>did</em> intend to merely borrow it when I took it down to the forge, I promise Istarnië, but as I worked, I lost track of what I was doing exactly and I…and then I had them.”</p><p>“Eru save me,” Nerdanel mutters, pulling out of her husband’s grip. “You don’t-” She stopped, huffing in frustration as her mind reeled.</p><p>“I have not forgiven you, nor do I think that I will for a long time” She says eventually, setting her shoulders back. “But I shall not leave and I shall tolerate you for <em>their</em> sake – our daughters and our sons. Just do not mess with me again or I shall not be responsible for my actions. Understood?”</p><hr/><p>“Triplets?” Finwë’s soft voice is slightly incredulous as Nerdanel and Fëanáro stand before him and their sons with the girls in their arms.</p><p>“Yes,” Fëanáro says. “We made them.”</p><p>Nerdanel would prefer it if he admitted the whole truth of the thing but she thought that if they declared that they both had a hand in their creation – as Fëanáro so claimed – then maybe the Valar would see them as people.</p><p>She hopes that is how the Valar will view them – she may have had no hand in their creation but already she loves them as much as any of her sons.</p><p>“Do they have names?” Finwë asks.</p><p>“Altafinwendë,” Fëanáro says, gesturing gently to the baby in his arms. “Mírifinwendë,” He gestures to the baby in Nerdanel’s right arm. “And Harmafinwendë.” He points to the last one. “Altë, Mírë and Harmë.”</p><p>“Narewen, Eäraniel and Telumaien,” Nerdanel adds, giving Telumaien over to her grandfather to hold and Eäraniel to Maglor as her arms began to ache.</p><p>There is silence in the room as everyone contemplates whether to ask the question as to where they come from.</p><p>“Two more,” Carnistir says, cutting through the quiet. “And you’d have a perfect twelve.”</p><p>Any opportunity to ask has now been officially taken away as he marches from the room and everyone else begins to follow.</p><hr/><p>Nerdanel sinks back onto the sofa, throwing an arm over her eyes and sighing deeply. She didn’t think that anything could get worse than twins, who took it in turns to wake up crying but she was wrong.</p><p>The Silmarilli – as the boys have taken to calling the three of them – only sleep one at a time and the other two will demand her full attention, wailing loudly (although, maybe not as loudly as Makalaurë was prone to crying) if she doesn’t give it to them.</p><p>At least Fëanáro helps her.</p><p>She may hate him as much as she loves him but the one thing he will always do is love his children beyond any and all reason.</p><hr/><p>“Bastard,” Fëanáro says, kicking the leg of the nursery table. It shakes but holds strong.</p><p>Nerdanel raises an eyebrow as she coaxes Eäraniel to drink from the bottle of warm milk and Lembas extract.</p><p>“That <em>bastard</em>.” His eyes are shadowed and his figure slightly slumped with fatigue.</p><p>“Care to elaborate?”</p><p>“Melkor,” Fëanáro growls and spins away from the table, beginning to pace up and down. One of the other triplet’s whimpers from the bassinet in the corner. “He threatened the Silmarilli.”</p><p>Nerdanel looks over in sharp surprise. “When did this happen?”</p><p>“Just now. He came to the gate. <em>Bastard</em>.”</p><p>It is testament, Nerdanel supposes, to how furious Fëanáro is that he can’t think of any other curse that he can call him.</p><p>The whimpering grows into full sobs and Fëanáro hurries over to the crib to pick her up and comfort her.</p><p>“Shh.” He bounces her gently but the crying continues to get louder and Nerdanel can see that Fëanáro is trying desperately not to get angry.</p><p>Eäraniel joins in and then Telumaien – at least, Nerdanel <em>thinks</em> that Telumaien is the one in the cot – begins to wail to.</p><p>Nerdanel puts the bottle down on the table with maybe a little bit too much force and tries to get Eäreniel to quiet down as she attempts to also rock the crib with her foot. The crying gets louder, Nerdanel feels very near tears – a feeling that she loathes – and Fëanáro looks like he might yell at something if the bawling didn’t stop soon.</p><p>Nerdanel closes her eyes for a moment to calm herself and then the crying shuts off all at once.</p><p>She snaps her eyes open again, looking around in bewilderment. And then she sees that the blanket wrapping Eäraniel now wraps a very glowing stone.</p><p>“Fëanáro,” She says slowly, seeing that the same thing has happened to both the others. “Why have our daughters turned into stones?”</p><hr/><p>Telumaien gurgles happily as Makalaurë sings his newest composition to her and her sisters.</p><p>Nerdanel, feeling refreshed from a long sleep and the first bath in a good few weeks, smiles at the softness in his voice. The usual drama isn’t there, switched for a slightly lighter and more playful voice.</p><p>“Ammë!” He exclaims as he spots her, cutting off his song abruptly. Eäraniel makes a disappointed little noise.</p><p>“Go on,” Nerdanel says with a smile, settling herself on the end of the sofa, just next to where Makalaurë  sits on the floor with his sisters. “I was enjoying it.”</p><hr/><p>Nerdanel walks into the drawing room to find Carnistir doing his embroidery work while also having his hair chewed by Narewen’s small mouth and being climbed on by the other two.</p><p>He seems relatively unfazed by being used as a climbing apparatus, only occasionally pulling his braid from Narewen’s hand if it is pulled too hard.</p><p>Nerdanel leaves him to it.</p><p>+++++</p><p>Huan is, Nerdanel thinks, fantastically well-mannered.</p><p>He lies quite still as Tyelkormo tells the triplets a bedtime story, the three of them tucked up against his stomach, their eyes wide as he manages to make the tale far more dramatic than needs be.</p><p>Narewen, who seems to have an obsession with hair and the like, has one pudgy hand fisting his silver fur and occasionally tugs at it when something particularly exciting happens and Telumaien squeals excitedly whenever Celegorm does a strange face.</p><p>Huan has apparently been enduring this for a while now.</p><p>Nerdanel hides a small smile, mouths a soft ‘thank you’ in the dog’s way (to which Huan rolls his eyes) and slips back out of the door.</p><hr/><p>“Trust me, it’s a great idea.”</p><p>Nerdanel doesn’t think she’s moved so quickly before in her life – the Ambarussar are supposed to be babysitting the Silmarilli today and hearing Minyarussa say that possibly tripled her heart rate.</p><p>She skids around the corner to find…</p><p>The Ambarussar have made each of the Silmarilli flower crowns. Narewen’s falls a little bit in her eyes and Telumaien’s is more of a flower hat but it is very sweet and not at all what Nerdanel was expecting considering Minyarussa’s propensity for terrible ideas.</p><p>“Ammë!” Atyarussa’s eyes light up when he spots her and he thrusts a chain of forget-me-nots at her. “Do you want one?”</p><p>“Thank you very much.” She takes it from his hand and puts it gently on her head. “Now, I’ll let you two get on.”</p><p>She is halfway out the room when she catches: “Now, where did we put the face paint?”</p><p>She spins around, faith in the natural order of things once more restored. “No! Absolutely not!”</p><hr/><p>“…and that concludes my thoughts on the matter.” Maitimo pauses as he finishes his speech and then, in his less formal voice, asks, “Was that alright?”</p><p>There is a happy shout from Telumaien and Narewen reaches for the end of one of Maitimo’s braids.</p><p>“Oh yeah, I forgot you couldn’t speak.”</p><p>Nerdanel watches as he flumps onto the floor, picking up one of the stuffed toys that had been discarded. “I suppose I shall call it a day. What you’re doing seems like far more fun.”</p><p>Nerdanel smiles as her eldest forgoes the politics of marble trading for the far more entertaining matter of creating some complicated scheme with his sister’s teddies.</p><p>She had come here for a review on her most recent creation but decided that it could wait.</p><hr/><p>Tyelperinquar is lying on the floor, his legs swinging and his hand drawing something with the crayons scattered across the carpet. Eäraniel is staring curiously at the drawing he’s creating – of her, if Nerdanel is correct from the angle that she has on the situation.</p><p>Curufinwë has Telumaien in his lap and is playing a game that ends up with him tickling her and her screaming with laughter.</p><p>Narewen has captured one of Tyelperinquar’s braids and is chewing very happily on it, whether to the owners knowledge or not, Nerdanel does not know – the household in general has got very used to this behaviour.</p><p>“Curufinwë,” She says, loathe to stop their fun. “Your father wanted you in the forge at your next availability.”</p><p>Curufinwë frowns. “I can’t leave the Silmarilli alone.”</p><p>“No, I suppose not.” His father will just have to be disappointed.</p><hr/><p>Their brothers may care for them deeply but no-one quite manages to spend so much time around the Silmarilli as Fëanáro.</p><p>There is something about them that lights up that madness in his eyes – that brings forth the monster in him that Nerdanel is terrified of, even if she will never admit it.</p><p>If Nerdanel didn’t force him to sleep in their bed – so that they still had a resemblance to a working marriage to the outside world – she thinks he would sleep on the window seat in the nursery. It is like the favouritism she had feared from Curufinwë’s birth but far, <em>far</em> worse.</p><hr/><p>Nerdanel is asleep when the Darkening occurs.</p><p>She goes to sleep with silver light shining through her window and wakes to nothing at all. A pitch black which only the torch in her eldest son’s hand.</p><p>“Ammë,” He says, sounding distraught. “The light of the Trees has vanished.”</p><p>She throws her bedcovers back and strides over to Maitimo in her nightdress, examining his face carefully under her work calloused hands.</p><p>“I’m fine.” He pushes her hands away gently. “But Melkor…”</p><p>“Melkor did this?”</p><p>“We think so.”</p><p>For a moment, her mind whirs and then she realises. “The triplets.”</p><p>“What?” Maitimo blinks at her in surprise.</p><p>She ignores him, grabbing the knife that lies on the bedside table and the sword hanging on the wall. “They’re in danger.”</p><hr/><p>Nerdanel can feel the fear in the air before they reach the nursery.</p><p>She turns to her son. “Go find your brothers,” She says. “I’ll get your sisters and meet you in the main hall.” She kisses his forehead. “I love you.”</p><p>“Are you-”</p><p>“Maitimo.”</p><p>“Yes Ammë.” He purses his lips and turns away, taking the light with him.</p><p>Nerdanel needs no torch – she was raised in the darkness of Aulë’s halls and knows how to navigate the earth as well as any dwarf. One hand on her sword and the other tracing the wall, she makes her way through the familiar corridors to the nursery.</p><p>It is not quite pitch black – starlight (proper starlight, like she has never seen before) pours through the great bay windows onto the still furniture and a crumpled figure that she dares not to contemplate for fear of knowing them. She pulls her eyes away to the fell figure silhouetted against the backdrop of purples and blues.</p><p>He turns and Melkor is illuminated by the three gems clutched in his hands.</p><p>Nerdanel draws her sword, her hand perfectly still. “Give them back.”</p><p>“Oh? Another gnat for me to squash?” He waves vaguely and the door slams behind her. She does not turn at his distraction nor rise to his bait – she had married Fëanáro, he would have to try harder than <em>that</em> to rile her up. “Ah, no, Fëanáro’s <em>precious</em> wife. A love story for the ages, you and your husband.” She rolls her eyes. “Pity it’ll end here.”</p><p>He takes a step towards the open window but Nerdanel is faster, dodging past him and blocking his way.</p><p>He grins. “Thank you for that. It makes my job a lot easier.”</p><p>She lets none of the confusion show on her face, gripping her sword tighter. Melkor’s grin grows wider.</p><p>There is a faint chittering from behind her, a blinding pain in the back of her neck and then Nerdanel is falling backwards.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Non-Canon Names:<br/>Finwion - Son of Finwë (Quenya)<br/>Istarnië - Wise Woman (Quenya)<br/>Altafinwendë - Radiance of Finwë (Quenya)<br/>Mírifinwendë - Jewel of Finwë (Quenya)<br/>Harmafinwendë - Treasure of Finwë (Quenya)<br/>Altë - Short for Altafinwendë<br/>Mírë - Short for Mírifinwendë<br/>Harmë - Short for Harmafinwendë<br/>Narewen - Woman of Flame (Quenya)<br/>Eäraniel - Sea Wandering Daughter (Quenya)<br/>Telumaien - Sky Friend (Quenya)</p><p>Quenya Translations:<br/>Ammë - Mother (Informal)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Eärendil</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello all!</p><p>Here I am with chapter 2. I promise I <i>am</i> writing chapter 19 of Time and Music, I just keep getting distracted :/ It should hopefully be up either tonight or sometime tomorrow. After that though, I'm back to school, so updates may be a bit slower as I won't have access to my laptop during breaks and lunch as I have been able to do during lockdown so writing will be limited to the evenings after I've done homework.</p><p>The italicised words spoken by Eönwë are taken directly from the Silmarillion.</p><p>Thank you <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacat3/pseuds/oliviacat3">oliviacat3</a> for beta'ing.</p><p>And I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eärendil can’t sleep.</p><p>Every time he does, he finds himself face-to-face with fire and monsters and his…his uncle with burning madness in his eyes.</p><p>His amil and his da are busy with the other refugees and he doesn’t want to disturb their sleep so when the images become too much, he follows the intoxicating sound of the sea crashing on the rocks below and stands on the beach watching the waves crash on the sand.</p><p>He doesn’t expect there to be someone else here so late at night.</p><p>Her skin seems to glow brightly under the light of the moon and the stars as she hitches her skirt above her knees and stands in the shallows, the water licking at her feet.</p><p>Eärendil freezes on the bottom step of the stairs, unsure as to whether he should continue or turn back. It doesn’t feel right to intrude but she turns before he can make a decision and smiles at him, her eyes glowing brighter than any of the Ñoldor from Valinor that Eärendil has met.</p><p>“Would you like to join me?” Her voice is soft in her melancholy and yet it still carries over the wind.</p><p>He nods and takes the last, few, tentative steps forward so that his bare toes would dip into the water as it laps up the beach. The tide is coming in.</p><p>“Couldn’t sleep?” She asks.</p><p>“No. When I do, the monsters come back.”</p><p>She hums softly. “Have you met Elwing?”</p><p>“Who’s…who’s Elwing?”</p><p>“My niece. She has monsters too. I…can’t help her. I tend to be otherwise indisposed. But you might be able to help each other.”</p><p>Eärendil walks a bit further into the surf, the water lapping around his ankles and making the cuffs of his leggings wet.</p><p>“Who are you?”</p><p>“Me?” She looks a bit surprised. “Oh, I-” She stops. “You know, I’m not sure.” She looks out at the horizon. “I’m not sure.” A moment after this, she smiles again. “I must be going. A pleasure to meet you Gaerdil.”</p><p>He blinks. He hadn’t told her his name.</p><hr/><p>“You know,” Eärendil says on day as he and Elwing are walking down the beach together, arm in arm. “I’ve known you for seven years now but I haven’t yet met your aunt again.”</p><p>“Again?” She looks at him curiously. “You’ve met her before?”</p><p>“I told you when we first met, don’t you remember?”</p><p>“Oh yes.” Realisation dawns on her face and she gives him a small smile – an expression that never seems to quite fit what with her seriously drawn eyebrows and the slight frown in her eyes although Eärendil thinks that it is beautiful. “That’s because she’s the Silmaril.”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“She’s the Silmaril,” Elwing repeats. “I don’t know why or how but she is. Everyone used to think that the Silmarilli were only gems but after Emer and Etha stole one from Morgoth’s crown as Emer’s bride-price they found differently. They raised her.” Her face closes off a bit. “It was for her that her brothers raided Doriath.”</p><p>“Oh.” Eärendil supposes this is not the strangest thing he’s ever heard. “So she’s…the gem currently?”</p><p>“Yes. She…” Elwing stops, scrunching her nose as she thinks on what to say. “She isn’t the happiest right now and…well, I’m not really sure but she spends a lot of her time in the gem now.”</p><p>“Ah.”</p><p>Elwing squeezes his arm gently as his head reels. “How is Círdan?” She asks, moving the subject away and Eärendil falls into the slightly less mind-bending conversation happily.</p><hr/><p>Life in the havens is hard and the memories of peace in Gondolin have been filed far away in Eärendil’s mind. His parents have sailed from Beleriand and he is now in charge of his people. He has no time to dwell on the past.</p><p>If nightmares still haunt him, that is his own business.</p><p>His life is monotonous and hard but he finds he would not change it for the world – not when he has Elwing in his life.</p><p>She is the only other peredhel that he knows but he knows that he would love her even if she were one of the gulls that flies far above them. She has a serious softness about her and rules steadily despite her youth. She is clever and powerful and gentle even with the grief. She has shielded her heart from all.</p><p>From all but him. She has a small smile that she keeps just for him; a rare, rare laugh; an almost carefreeness when they are alone.</p><p>He wishes, sometimes, that he could lift the weight that has been on her shoulders since he met her and help her carry the burden.</p><p>They are married on the spring they both turn twenty five.</p><p>At the party afterwards – the first that Eärendil can recall since Gondolin – Elwing is the happiest that he can remember her being.</p><p>“Oh look, Eärendil!” It is testament to how high her spirits are that she is using his Quenyan name. She tugs on his hand, pulling him through the crowd which parts as the newlywed couple come through – the wedding is unlike the one or two he remembers attending in Gondolin, everyone being far more active. “Odhig Menelnir!”</p><p>The elf looked up – Eärendil’s faint memory of the young woman on the beach had been surprisingly accurate. It had been no trick of the night time light that made her skin glow a silvery gold nor that made her eyes shine so brightly, luminous despite a grief that lay behind them.</p><p>She is, however, younger than his childhood self recalls. Indeed, she can barely be of her majority and although she holds herself with grace and poise, she is not quite as ethereal as he remembers.</p><p>The sadness, however, lingers still.</p><p>“Gaerdil, Elwing, congratulations on your wedding.”</p><p>Elwing’s face is light and full of joy as she speaks. “I thought you wouldn’t come!”</p><p>“And miss a party?” Menelnir puts a hand over her heart as she feigns horror. “But truly, inel-nin, it has been a good few days with you so happy. It is hard to be melancholy while you are so upbeat. I could feel the joy even as a stone.” She turns to Eärendil and sticks out a hand. “We have not been properly acquainted, have we? At least, not while I wasn’t having an identity crisis. I am Menelnir Elmíreth Lúthieniel.”</p><p>“Eärendil Tuorion.”</p><p>She smiles as they shake hands – a very Mannish thing to do, Eärendil knows. “Well, I shall leave you two to it. Have fun.”</p><p>She waves and then she slips into the crowd.</p><hr/><p>“Eärendil!”</p><p>Eärendil turns and grins as his wife comes flying at him. He spins her around and kisses her lightly on the lips as her feet once more touch the planks of the ship.</p><p>“Hello El. I missed you,” He whispers softly as they pull away. Elwing is not usually so open with her affection as this.</p><p>“And I you.” She presses another kiss to his lips. “I have a surprise for you.”</p><p>“Really?” Eärendil looks at her curiously. “What is it?”</p><p>“I’m pregnant.”</p><p>Eärendil freezes for a moment, his mind going blank. Then his face splits into a grin. “Oh that’s wonderful!”</p><p>He leans down and kisses her again and she laughs. “You really think so?”</p><p>“Of course! It’s the greatest news I’ve heard in so long!”</p><hr/><p>“I said I wouldn’t leave.” Eärendil tugs on one of his braids as he paces in front of the fire. “You’re pregnant. I can’t-”</p><p>“You <em>must</em>. Someone must sail to find help. You are the best sailor this side of the sea and it is most likely that the Valar will listen to you.” She stands with some difficulty from her seat by the fire to press a gentle hand to his cheek. There is a slight frown over her face. “I will be as well here with the child as I can be. Menelnir will protect us.”</p><p>“Menelnir is a jewel. She doesn’t have that sort of control over her power.”</p><p>Elwing’s frown deepens. “Gaerdil, you <em>need</em> to go. Don’t argue with me.”</p><p>“Once the child is born. Once they’re at least five years old.”</p><p>“You should-”</p><p>“Elwing! <em>Please</em>.”</p><p>She purses her lips. “Fine. But only if the orc attacks don’t increase.”</p><hr/><p>Eärendil sits on the end of Elwing’s bed, one of the twins in his arms. He can’t believe that he has children – children, plural.</p><p>The baby he is holding has tiny little hands and fingers and a face that is all scrunched up and he is the most perfect thing that Eärendil has ever seen.</p><p>“Are you crying?” Elwing asks, looking up at him from half-lidded, exhausted eyes.</p><p>“No,” Eärendil says, his voice hitching slightly. “Aren’t they the best?”</p><hr/><p>It is one of the rare days that Menelnir is in her elven form, flitting around the hall that they are sitting in and singing faintly to the young twins – a song in Quenya which Elwing keeps frowning at. There has not been many grievances brought to them today – it’s a lazy day with enough time to just enjoy themselves.</p><p>It is then that the doors of the hall are burst open and the captain of the last patrol stumbles in, followed by the commander of the guard.</p><p>Menelnir cuts off her song and Evranin and Meleth pick up a twin each at Elwing’s signal as the captain leans against the wall, an arm around a wound in her stomach and breathing heavily.</p><p>“The…the orcs got too far…” She coughs and blood dribbles down her chin. “We…we tried to keep them back but they…they…they got past the border and they would have…would have come here if the other patrol didn’t…” She sways on the spot before collapsing on the floor.</p><p>Menelnir ran forward, kneeling down to check her pulse.</p><p>“Commander,” Eärendil says sharply as one of the guards takes the collapsed soldier from the silmaril. Menelnir stays on her knees, glowing brighter than she usually does, and Elwing kneels beside her, murmuring comfortingly. “What’s happened?”</p><p>The commander pursed his lips. “A pack of orcs, bigger than usual, jumped the patrol. Nine of the twelve were killed and the other three were injured. The orcs nearly got into city – would have, if they weren’t intercepted by another patrol just leaving.” He folds his hands behind his back. “We can’t hold out much longer – Morgoth is getting stronger and his armies greater.”</p><p>Elwing stands, the silmaril cradled in her hands.</p><p>“I’ll go,” Eärendil says, biting his lip and reading the question in her eyes. “I’ll miss you and the twins but I’ll go.”</p><hr/><p>“I didn’t think I’d hate the sea but here I am.”</p><p>“Erellont, stop lying on the deck.”</p><p>“<em>Erellont, stop lying on the deck</em>,” Falathar mimics, coming past Erellont and Aerandir with a coil of rope around an arm.</p><p>Aerandir sighs. “Can you not? Please?”</p><p>Falathar rolls his eyes. “Fine <em>Naneth</em>.”</p><p>Eärendil has spent nearly four years on Vingilótë with only these three elves and he is beginning to contemplate throwing them over – he would have, if not for the most important fact that they were needed to sail the ship and that he needed to be able to sail the ship in order to get to Valinor and to get help to save his wife and children.</p><p>However improbable it is getting that they will reach the fabled shores, it is the one thing that is keeping him from going insane.</p><p>“Ooh, a bird!”</p><p>Eärendil looks up at Erellont’s call. “Where? Where did it come from?” He asks, climbing the mast to get a better look.</p><p>“Uh…East, I think.”</p><p>There is a groan from Falathar. “We’ve circled ‘round.”</p><p>“We need to turn back. Eärendil?”</p><p>“Wait.” Eärendil gestures down at them to be quiet as he squints at the bird flying out to meet them. It is far from the coast and…and it’s glowing?</p><p>Eärendil ignores the calls of his mariners as he reaches the top of the mast and reaches out. He can see that the bird is a gull as he gets closer and it isn’t glowing. It’s <em>carrying</em> something that glows. It’s…</p><p>“The silmaril,” He mumbles and then, “Elwing!”</p><p>He can hear the confusion on the deck below but he is deaf to it as the bird – his <em>wife</em> – comes careening towards him, landing haphazardly in his arms. He stumbles back, falling back slightly so that he sits in the rigging.</p><p>She squawks at him, flapping her wings furiously and dropping the silmaril in his lap. She is clearly trying to tell him something but he cannot for the life of him think what. Across their marriage bond, he can only catch the snippets of desperation and anger and enough other emotions that it is all a muddle of confusion in his head.</p><p>“Hey, can you just…not for a moment?” He rubs his forehead, trying to get a grasp of the situation. “Just…OK. I…Elwing.” At her name, she calms down significantly.</p><p>He reaches out to stroke the feathers on her head, before drawing her – somewhat awkwardly – into a tentative embrace, closing his eyes.</p><p>“Has he gone insane?” Someone (he’s not really focussing) asks from the deck.</p><p>“It’s always a possibility. I feel like <em>I’ve</em> gone insane.”</p><p>Eärendil disregards them as he feels Elwing relax in his grip. He takes a few deep breaths, feeling his wife change in his arms, and opens his eyes again.</p><p>Elwing wraps her arms around his neck and sobs.</p><hr/><p>“Is it meant to be this quiet?” Eärendil whispers to Menelnir.</p><p>The silmaril, warm in his hands, doesn’t react and Eärendil sighs, drawing the light closer to his chest to bring him some form of comfort as he calls out a greeting in Quenya and then Sindarin and then as many other languages as he can think of.</p><p>There is no reply and his voice echoes through the empty streets of Tirion-on-Túna.</p><p>“Something terrible must have happened.” He stops in the middle of an abandoned square. He contemplates it for a long moment. “I should go back and talk to Elwing. Maybe she’ll know what to do.”</p><p>He turns around to walk back through the beautiful roads of the city.</p><p>“<em>Hail Eärendil, of mariners most renowned, the looked for that cometh unawares, the longed for that cometh beyond hope! Hail Eärendil, bearer of light before the Sun and Moon! Splendour of the Children of Earth, star in the darkness, jewel in the sunset, radiant in the morning!</em>”</p><p>Eärendil, who had frozen when the voice had first spoken, swings around. There is an elvish looking being in the centre of a street that was previously completely empty – indeed, Eärendil would have thought he <em>was an</em> elf if not for the large, snow-white wings protruding from his back and the ethereal, golden glowing of his eyes.</p><p>He clutches Menelnir closer.</p><p>“I come bearing a prayer to the Valar,” He says, finding his voice. “From all the free peoples of Middle Earth.”</p><hr/><p>Eärendil lets out a soft exhale as Manwë makes his decree. A choice – a choice he knows the answer to. He will be a Man should that be what his wife chooses.</p><p>“But that is not all,” Varda says softly once her husband has finished. “The matter of the Silmarils is still at hand.”</p><p>Automatically, Eärendil clutches her harder to his chest.</p><p>“Lay her down.” Varda rises from her great throne, decreasing in size. “Do not fear, Eärendil of Arvernien. I shall do her no harm.”</p><p>With quite a bit of hesitation, Eärendil reaches out his hands, a faint tremor in his arms.</p><p>Varda plucks the silmaril from them and Eärendil has to restrain himself from lunging forward to take her back. He <em>hopes</em> that the Elentári will not harm her but he promised Elwing and he doesn’t <em>know</em> Menelnir will be safe.</p><p>Varda begins to sing something like a lullaby and the silmaril begins to glow brighter and brighter until…</p><p>Menelnir stands in front of the queen.</p><p>She stumbles backwards and into Eärendil, who just about manages to catch her and steady her without falling over himself. She disentangles herself carefully, standing shakily and taking his hand in hers for an unspoken support.</p><p>“She who was called Harmafinwendë by her father Fëanáro,” Varda says seriously, standing back and returning to her seat. “She who was called Telumaien by her mother Nerdanel. She who was called Elmíreth by her mother Lúthien. She who called herself Menelnir and Silmaril.” Eärendil feels the eyes of the Valar around them slip from him to Menelnir as if a weight drops from his shoulders. “When you were very young, you were brought before us and I blessed you and your sisters for the holy light contained within you and the…unique way you were created. Before then, there had been much debate as to whether you should be counted among the race of elves or if you were of another fate. It is something that we must decide. So tell us your tale, she with the light of the Trees within her.”</p><p>Eärendil feels Menelnir tense before she pulls out of his hand and stands alone before the Valar. She rises her chin, glowing brighter – a sign, Eärendil knows, that she is beginning to lose control over her physical form – but she does not change into the jewel.</p><p>There is a long silence, like a breath before a storm. And then…</p><p>“Ladies and Lords,” Menelnir begins, her voice clear as she speaks. “I do not remember life on these shores well.” Her hands clench by her sides before she relaxes them again. “I can recall brothers who loved me and parents who cared for me in the abstract way that one imagines the shores of Cuiviénen from stories of old. A loving embrace that no longer exists in reality.</p><p>“Much clearer to me is a pain that came from years of imprisonment within the hold of Morgoth. I was not in the form I am now but even while bound by the gem, I can feel that which permeates the air and anguish and suffering was that which is most prominent in that terrible place. Even now, I ache knowing that my sisters are still in his hold.</p><p>“I am lucky for I was taken by Beren and Lúthien who raised me with the kindness and love of any parent I could wish for. Love I reciprocated as their daughter. I miss them and-” She stops, her carefully crafted words falling short for a moment.</p><p>Eärendil cannot see her face but he supposes that it shows the pain that he himself feels for the loss of his own parents.</p><p>“I have spent many of the past years as the jewel. It was easier than thinking of my pain. There are always <em>so many emotions</em> in my mind and as the silmaril, it is numb and faraway. I can drift away from it.</p><p>“That is all I have to say.”</p><p>There is a long silence in which the air seems to get heavier.</p><p>“Your brothers?” Varda eventually asks. “Do you agree with their deeds?”</p><p>“My brothers…” Menelnir’s shoulders sag slightly. “I cannot tell you that, for I myself have not made that decision. I love them, for they are my brothers and I can remember when life was peaceful and good and they were kind to me. I know that they did it for our father and for me – they thought that I would be happier with them, that that was where I belonged. I-” She cuts off again. “I belong where I decide I belong but I didn’t know how to tell them that. They should not have done what they did but I…I cannot tell you how I feel about it.”</p><p>The heavy silence falls again until Manwë speaks.</p><p>“We have much to discuss. Return to Elwing who you will find wandering the docks of Alqualondë. We will call you when we have come to a decision.”</p><hr/><p>Eärendil sees Menelnir from the other side of the dock.</p><p>It is empty this time of night and Menelnir is not exactly difficult to see, her skin and hair glowing as always.</p><p>She sits on the edge of a pier, her bare feet trailing in the sea.</p><p>Eärendil takes a seat beside her.</p><p>“Couldn’t sleep?” She asks, keeping her eyes trained on the distant horizon, filled with stars.</p><p>“It’s just…a lot.”</p><p>“You’re regretting your decision.”</p><p>He sighs, lying back against the wooden boards and staring at the full moon hanging just above them. “Yes. I…I love Elwing more than reasonable but I would…I would have liked to share a fate with my father. Living forever…” He trails off.</p><p>“Living forever seems like such a burden.” Menelnir lies down beside him as he speaks. “You will have all these memories and thoughts and feelings that are going to haunt you until the breaking and remaking of the world and possibly even beyond that. There is so much ahead of you and you don’t know what to do with it.”</p><p>They lie together for a long time in silence, the sky turning above them in the slow, methodical way that it does. Eärendil wonders as to what she talked about with the Valar that has her in such a melancholy mood but he does not inquire. He just hopes that his presence is enough to calm whatever it is.</p><p>One of her iridescent arms reaches up as if to pluck on the stars from the sky. It hangs there for a moment before falling down once more.</p><p>“I love them,” She whispers, a secret to the night as much as it is for his ears. “I…I shouldn’t – they didn’t…they didn’t love <em>me</em> – how could they? They tried to tear me away from my family to join theirs when I was happier in Doriath than I would have been with them. They should have <em>known</em> this. I would have…I would have let them back into my life but I-”</p><p>She stops and Eärendil turns his head to see her sit up and cover her mouth, silent tears falling down her face.</p><p>He pushes himself up as well, wrapping a slightly awkward arm around her shoulders.</p><p>She leans into the embrace, her face twisting with her crying. “My mother’s dead,” She says simply. “Lúthien I will never see again and Nerdanel refuses to be re-embodied before my brothers and my father and the rest of my family. Dior and the twins and Nimloth are dead and have no set date to be re-embodied and I…my only remaining family beyond you and Elwing are across the sea and terrible people who probably don’t even care for me and who I don’t even know if I want to see!”</p><p>She wails and buries her face in Eärendil’s tunic.</p><p>Eärendil strokes her back soothingly – at least, he hopes it is soothingly. “We’ll still be here, Menelnir. We don’t have any plans on leaving. We’ll be your family.”</p><hr/><p>It is just another night after the war – Eärendil and Menelnir are sailing the sky when it hits him, seemingly out of the blue.</p><p>He hasn’t seen either of his sons since they were barely two years of age and now…now he won’t see Elros ever again.</p><p>The rope he was tying down slips from his suddenly lack grip and goes flying back to where it came from. The sail twists, pulling them wildly off course.</p><p>“Eärendil!” Menelnir calls from the other end of the ship, jumping forward to fix his error as the ship turns and threatens to tip over. Eärendil stumbles and half reaches out to help her but then he just lets his arm fall to his side. The panic that should be there is muffled by the realisation and he can’t put his mind to anything else.</p><p>He abandoned his sons.</p><p>He’s…he’s <em>terrible</em>.</p><p>“Eärendil! What in all of Arda…?” Menelnir begins. “Eärendil?”</p><p>Eärendil doesn’t react, sinking to the floor as his legs feel like they can’t hold him anymore.</p><p>“Oh…right…umm…are you…” She trails off awkwardly before falling to her knees as well. “What’s wrong?” She settles on. It takes a minute for the words to register.</p><p>“I abandoned my children.”</p><p>“No! No, don’t think like that.” She takes his face in her hands making him look at her. “You were wonderful and brave and travelled the sea to get the Valar’s help <em>because</em> you loved them so much. You risked to lose them forever <em>because</em> you loved them. You let them go and be their own person <em>because you loved them enough and unselfishly</em>. You were unselfish so that they might live long and fruitful lives. Don’t you <em>dare</em> put yourself down like that.”</p><p>He blinks at the complete surety in her voice, the rushing numbness that had temporarily overcome him, receding like a riptide on the way out to sea. “Oh.”</p><p>She smiles brightly and stands again, pulling him with her. “Come on, we have a star to sail!”</p><p>Eärendil smiles back at her, her joy contagious, and retakes his place on the ship.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Non-Canon Names:<br/>Menelnir - Sky Friend (Sindarin)<br/>Elmíreth - Sky Jewel Woman (Sindarin)<br/>Lúthieniel - Daughter of Lúthien<br/>Tuorion - Son of Tuor</p><p>Quenya Translations:<br/>Amil - Mother (Informal)</p><p>Sindarin Translations:<br/>Emer - Grandmother (Informal)<br/>Etha - Grandfather (Informal)<br/>Peredhel - Half-Elf<br/>Odhig - Aunt (Informal)<br/>Inel-nin - My niece (Informal)<br/>Naneth - Mother (Informal)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Maglor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello all!</p><p>Wow, this chapter refused to end. I got to three thousand words and realised I was barely half way through! As well as this, I'm back to school and I forgot quite how draining seven hours of constant human interaction was...not to mention the fact that the government can't quite decide what to do with our exams. Safe to say that my update schedule will be skewed somewhat.</p><p>On a more positive note, thank you to my beta <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacat3/pseuds/oliviacat3">oliviacat3</a>.</p><p>And I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The pain <em>screams</em> at him.</p><p>It is an accumulation of all the terrible, <em>terrible</em> things he has done – all the things he has buried so far in his soul, that he hasn’t touched in years and years; all the things that have coated his hands in the blood of innocents and harmed the people he loves the most in this world; all the things he has been ignoring so that he could build the façade of a happy life, a life that he doesn’t deserve.</p><p>He can’t scream.</p><p>The pain overloads whatever it is that usually makes him scream and the sound gets lodged somewhere in his throat. Or he has already screamed himself hoarse as his brother stepped over the edge of that chasm, their sister clutched to his chest, taking them both to their deaths.</p><p>He stumbles forward, the Silmaril – <em>Eäraniel</em> – tucked in his hands. He can smell burnt flesh (and he’s smelt <em>that</em> before) and hear a rushing. Is it in his mind or is it the sea? They are close to it: he spotted it through the trees as they finally stopped running and he could taste the salt on the air mixing with the acrid bitterness of charred skin.</p><p>And the weight, <em>the weight</em>. Everything, every little thing he has ever done, comes down on him and he wants it to stop. He wants it to all go back to where he had entombed it in his heart. He wants his mind to stop yelling at him and for all these <em>feelings</em> to just…</p><p>He has thrown the Silmaril into the ocean before he can think.</p><p>His mind stops howling and he is suddenly very, very empty.</p><p>He stands in the shallows of the ocean, the water gently lapping at his knees as he watches where the light of the Silmaril is fading.</p><p>Where the Silmaril is sinking.</p><p>Where his <em>sister</em> is sinking.</p><p>Maglor starts as he realises exactly what he has done and dives forward, following the shining light as it is swallowed by the inky waves.</p><p>He can’t reach her before he has to go back up for more air.</p><p>He doesn’t stay there long, diving back down the moment he has caught his breath.</p><p>He does it again and again and again until…until he can no longer see the light and he must grudgingly tell himself that he cannot get her back. She is with Ulmo now and there is nothing he can do.</p><p>The sun is beginning to set as he traipses out of the sea – cold and wet and empty inside.</p><p>He is shivering by the time he gets back to the place he and Maedhros had finally stopped. Their bags are still there, untouched, but Maedhros is not.</p><p>Maglor sits himself on the ground, tucking his knees into his chest and thinking of how he is going to tell Maedhros that he just threw their sister away.</p><p>It gets darker and darker until the moon rises and the stars shine (Telumaien the brightest of them all) yet Maedhros has not returned. Maglor is starting to worry that something has happened to him but he can’t bring himself to look.</p><p>His hands ache and sting and are probably smearing blood on his leggings but Maglor doesn’t quite register the feeling. Everything is a distant concern.</p><p>He wants Maedhros to come back.</p><hr/><p>The sun rises again and Maglor has not moved.</p><p>Neither has Maedhros appeared.</p><p>Some part of Maglor’s brain is telling him that Maedhros is dead. There is something there – some memory, he supposes – that he has managed to suppress so well that touching the Silmaril didn’t manage to dig it back up.</p><p>Maglor is ignoring that part of his brain. He is, in fact, ignoring all of his brain and remains exactly where he is despite the obvious threat of predators and orcs and the host of the Valar.</p><p>He doesn’t really care.</p><p>Time is somewhat irrelevant for a while. The ground shakes and the wind howls and there is more than one rain shower as the days pass into nights and back again.</p><p>Maglor doesn’t move. He has decided – albeit subconsciously – that he will let himself be taken by whatever force wants to take him.</p><p>So he sits and waits to see what will take him first.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“Makalaurë. Do not be afraid.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Afraid of what? He wants to ask the suffocating dark around him. The voice has no source, no face that he can put it to – it reminds him almost of his wife and the way she would call to him to paddle into the sea.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I am here.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Something like a kiss is brushed against his forehead.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Do not be afraid.”</em>
</p><hr/><p>He wakes up, surprisingly comfortable upon the ground with a small, curious face looking down at him.</p><p>It grins as he blinks a few times groggily and tries to push himself upright.</p><p>He hisses as his hand hits the ground and pain shoots up and through his arm. With some difficulty, his eyes getting used to the light, he sits fully upright, a warm blanket falling down.</p><p>He is wearing something he has never seen before – a simple tunic and leggings in brown and green – and he is sleeping in a cave that he has never been in before – of smooth walls and pale light coming from the early morning sun pouring through the entrance.</p><p>The girl…he <em>knows</em> that girl.</p><p>“Eäraniel?” He asks and coughs, his throat hoarse and scratchy.</p><p>“‘Laurë!” She throws her arms around his neck and he hisses as pain burns up the side of his face and neck that her skin touches, pushing her away as gently as he can. “‘Laurë?”</p><p>He tries at a smile as she looks at him with wide eyes. “No, it’s not your fault Mírë. I…I’m hurt because I’ve done some bad things. It means that you can’t touch me, OK?”</p><p>He’s trying desperately to process the situation as he talks. He is somewhere he has never been before with the sister he threw into the ocean. He cannot remember how this came to be.</p><p><em>Don’t be afraid</em>. The soft voice from his dream whispers.</p><p>“Do you know where we are?” He asks his sister softly, kneeling up and ignoring the pain in his knees and his hands.</p><p>She copies his actions, putting on a serious face, her eyes older than her body would portray. “The nice nís said that she took us here ‘cause it was safe.”</p><p>Maglor nods, as if this is confirming something he already knew even if it is making everything far more confusing. “Did the nice nís give you her name? I’m afraid I cannot quite recall it.”</p><p>“She told me to call her Solórë.” Eäraniel begins to play with a lock of her hair.</p><p>Maglor nods again with a soft noise of agreement. This does not narrow down who it could be. There is no-one he can think of with that name and certainly no-one who could possibly want to protect <em>him</em>.</p><p>“Those things are ours, she said,” Eäraniel says, pointing to a corner of the cave not lit by the setting sun streaming through the entrance. “And that I should give you this.”</p><p>Maglor takes the letter offered with a soft thanks and unfolds it, angling it so that it is lit and he can actually read the shimmering green ink.</p><p>
  <em>Makalaurë,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your sister is most delightful but she does not belong with us. You are her closest blood that is still free from Mandos’ halls and so it is only right that you should be her guardian.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I could not in good heart leave her with you in the state that you were. We have brought you both here where you should be relatively safe for now. The bags contain a change of clothes and enough supplies for the next week while you get on your feet.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It would be advisable that you keep both yours and Eäraniel’s identities under wraps: it would not be inadvisable to go under different names or even use a soft illusion over your features. You are both rather recognisable.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Do not return to Beleriand – it has been decided that that land shall be broken for the evil has diffused too far into it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cantasië wishes you well.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>~ some friends</em>
</p><p>Maglor clucks his tongue a few times as he contemplates the words on the page, very purposefully ignoring the words from his wife.</p><p>He takes in a few breaths, stops himself from crying in front of his sister and folds the paper back up. He pushes himself gingerly to his feet and stumbles over to the small pile of bags, quite happily sinking back to the floor in front of them.</p><p>There’s his bag, empty bar a half-full water bottle, a plain cloak and another knife. Maedhros’ is there too but he doesn’t dare go through it: even though Maedhros is no longer here, he had always been very secretive over his things that it would feel wrong to so much as open his bag.</p><p>The final bag is made of some shiny, green fabric that he can’t identify but is soft beneath his hands. Once opened, it reveals far more than he could have hoped for – a box with a collection of medical supplies in, a change of clothes for both him and Eäraniel and a pile of lembas that he can probably make last three weeks if he goes a bit short, among other things.</p><p>He picks up a pair of gloves he has spotted and pulls them painfully over his bandaged hands before turning to Eäraniel.</p><p>He takes her hands in his and is grateful when they don’t burn even through the fabric. She looks at him with wide eyes.</p><p>“Right, Eäraniel, we’re going to have to not be us anymore. While we’re around other people.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“People don’t like me, for the same reason that you can’t touch me.” He strokes the back of a hand comfortingly. “And you are very recognisable.”</p><p>She doesn’t look him in the eye. “Will they want me like…like he did?”</p><p>Maglor tucks a lock of soft hair behind her ear. “Most of them will just be curious for you are a most wonderful person but some of them might be like him and I shall take no risks. I will protect you until my last breath this side of the Sea.”</p><p>She nods, still avoiding his eyes. “Who will we be then?”</p><p>“Who do you want to be?”</p><p>“Your sister.”</p><p>“OK. You shall be my sister then.”</p><p>She looks at him for a moment. “And I wanna live by the sea.”</p><p>“I’m sure we could make that work.” He smiles very slightly as something in her lights up in excitement at the prospect of being <em>anything</em>.</p><p>“Can I learn to ride?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“And fire a bow?”</p><p>“When you’re a bit older.”</p><p>“And dance? I wanna dance!” She looks up at him with wide eyes, shining brighter than usual with an excited glee.</p><p>Maglor laughs softly, her utter joy rather contagious. “Absolutely, Selernya.”</p><hr/><p>“I can hear the sea!” Eäraniel tugs excitedly on Maglor’s hand and Maglor has to hide a wince behind his smile.</p><p>They always seem to come back to the sea: they never wander in land for too long and always loop back, returning to the coast.</p><p>Maglor does not mind – Eäraniel loves it. The sight and sound and smell of the sea lights something up in her and it makes Maglor happy to know that she is happy.</p><p>It is where she grows up, brought back to the beach after every trip into a town, sleeping near the sea.</p><p>It loves her, splashing and playing around her dancing feet even as she grew up to her full height.</p><p>The sea is there to wash away her tears where Maglor can’t, guide her dancing feet when Maglor is singing, stroke away midnight terror as Maglor cannot quite manage.</p><p>It has raised her as much as Maglor has.</p><hr/><p>“Hanar!” Eäraniel tugs on Maglor’s gloved hands, pointing at a festival stall selling skewers. “Can we get one of those? I’m starving.”</p><p>Maglor is very aware of the fact that they don’t have that much money but Eäraniel looks so hopeful that he nods anyway and lets her drag him over.</p><p>Due to the fact that Maglor can’t really hunt with his hands as they are, they have been eating only what they can afford from what he has earned with his singing – which is admittedly not a lot in the Mannish settlements they have been flitting around – and he thinks that it has been long enough that she deserves a treat.</p><p>Her hair and skin does not glow – he sung an illusion over her as he always does before they go into any town: without it, people stare and she gets dreadfully close to panicking. Her clothes are old and Maglor has tried his best to patch them with what they have but his attempts were amateur at best.</p><p>The clothes they were given by their mysterious donor have long since been worn and Maglor has used everything else in the bag until they simply can’t be used anymore. He loves his sister but sometimes he thinks that it would have been better if she had never come back to him – she would surely have been happier if she were not constantly on the edge of abject poverty.</p><p>They walk around the rest of the festival, Eäraniel happily munching on her food and pointing out the dancing or singing or other entertainment while Maglor nods along with a smile on his face and half trying to think of how they will get enough money for when their food runs out in two days.</p><p>“Can we do that again?” She asks when they settle down to sleep in the nearby forest as it is summer and camping is a far cheaper option to renting rooms.</p><p>“If we come across another festival, I see no reason why we shouldn’t.” Maglor begins to braid her silvery hair down her back, as well as he can with gloves on and his hands as painful as they are. “You had fun?”</p><p>“Oh, so much fun!” She turns, pulling Maglor forward so that he doesn’t tug at her hair. Her eyes glisten. “You saw those dancers? I could learn to dance like that – but better – and when you do your singing, I can dance! I’m sure it will help.”</p><p>He smiles, gently pushing her back around so he can finish the braid. “You still want to?”</p><p>She scoffs. “Of course.”</p><p>“I can’t get you lessons.”</p><p>“I’ll teach myself! I just need a book and then I’ll go from there – I know <em>you</em> taught yourself to play music. I see no reason I couldn’t do the same.”</p><p>Maglor finishes off the plait before he answers. “I shall have to keep my eye out for a good book. But I can’t make any promises, OK?”</p><p>“Yes! Thank you Maglor!” She throws her arms around him and he has to angle himself away as to avoid burning his face however much he wishes to reciprocate the hug just as vehemently.</p><hr/><p>There are times when she is not always human.</p><p>When she is angry or sad or when the nightmares are too bad, the safety of the jewel overtakes her and there is little Maglor can do other than to wrap her in a soft blanket and sing to her comfortingly until she turns back.</p><p>It has been happening less and less but there is one night when there is a thunderstorm and she cries herself into her gem form. Maglor searches through his bag for the blanket and pulls out not only the blanket but a small notebook he has not touched since he packed it at the bottom of the bag.</p><p>He wraps Eäraniel up, hissing when his skin catches the surface of the jewel (the burning is always more potent when she is in this form) and lies her in his lap, leaning against the cave wall as the thunder roars.</p><p>He hums something that just about permeates through the screaming of the storm and picks up the notebook, intent on putting it back.</p><p>It had fallen open and when Maglor picks it up, he catches his name.</p><p>
  <em>I haven’t written in this for a while – Finno and Miri will be coming after me but I simply have had no time – but Kano came this week.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hadn’t realised I was lonely until I found the loneliness gone. He is terrible, really – dropped in out of nowhere and just started doing my job for me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I told him that he should be back in the Gap but he just shrugged and said that Aelineth would probably be doing better without him before picking up a pile of reports to file.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I swear, he will be the death of me but it was nice to have his cheery humming as I did the usually tedious job of the finances (I cannot see how Moryo can enjoy doing them) and his general presence was uplifting in the otherwise dreary fortress.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I should invite him over more. <strike>Even if he is incredibly clingy</strike>.</em>
</p><p>Maglor shut the book with a snap, shoving it back into the recesses of the bag.</p><p>He is shaking and there are tears on his face.</p><p>He scrubs at his cheeks angrily and tries to ignore the aching in his soul that calls for all of his brothers and sisters but most of all Maedhros. He should be glad that he has even one of his siblings by his side but still the ache is there…</p><p>He begins to sing again – and he wishes for the comfort of playing his harp, which lies so enticingly close – a soft lullaby that their father used to sing long ago, before the madness overtook him.</p><p>It reminds him of kinder times.</p><p>He hopes it will help Eäraniel too.</p><hr/><p>Maglor stumbles forward as the orc’s blade catches his legs, digging deep into the shin. He twists around and slits it’s throat before he can fully lose his balance. It twitches and gurgles for a good minute before finally falling still, leaving the clearing silent bar Maglor’s heavy breathing and Eäraniel’s fast footsteps.</p><p>“Maglor, are you OK?”</p><p>He turns to her voice, wincing as pain shoots up his leg. “I’m sure I will be. Let’s-” He huffs as he forces a sudden wave of nausea down. “Let’s clear up these bodies and try to get somewhere safe for the night. Another group might come and I don’t want to be here when it does.”</p><p>Eäraniel, with a look of disgust on her face, helps him roll the bodies into a pile as far from any tree as they can get. She is the one to light the mound on fire: with possibly a bit more glee than was entirely necessary but Maglor didn’t comment.</p><p>They do not get far before Maglor cannot physically make it any farther on his leg. He sinks to the floor by the trunk of a gnarly, old tree and sighs in relief as the world stops swimming. His hands shake as he pulls the leg of his breeches up and he grimaces as he sees it.</p><p>In the short hour since he got it, the wound has got inflamed and is leaking some sort of horrible pus. The nausea rises again.</p><p>“Maglor!” Eärniel falls down beside him, a note of panic in her voice. Her hands hover over the wound as she examines it worriedly. She clearly wants to touch but knows that she can’t. “That’s not…Maglor, what do I do?”</p><p>“Get me…get me the medicine box. And a waterskin.”</p><p>The box is in a rather sad state with only the end of a roll of bandages and what looks like some very old blackberries. Maglor ignores the fruit and wets a square of fabric, cleaning – to the best of his ability – the wound.</p><p>It is poisoned, probably, but Maglor has nothing for poison.</p><p>He wraps a bandage around it to avoid dying of blood loss in the night and hopes that come morning it will look better (however fruitless he knows this hope to be).</p><p>He gives Eäraniel a tentative smile. “See? I’ll be fine.”</p><p>She bites her lip, unsure. “And if you aren’t?”</p><p>“You find Elrond Peredhel – but you shall not need to. I have no intention of leaving you. OK?” He looks at her as seriously as he can.</p><p>She nods, her eyes wide.</p><hr/><p>He does not wake up in the tree roots he fell asleep in.</p><p>The first thing he notices is the distant sound of the sea mixing with a crackling fire and a soft breathing. Then, the distinct warmth one does not usually feel after waking up on the ground.</p><p>With some difficulty, he forces his eyes open to look at a rickety ceiling.</p><p>He forces himself to breathe normally as panic claws at his throat. He doesn’t like this waking up in new places (for all that it keeps happening to him).</p><p>Thankfully, the pain in his leg is far less than he remembers.</p><p>“Ah, so he awakens.”</p><p>Maglor turns his head sharply, cringing internally as his neck protests against the sudden action. He <em>knows</em> that voice.</p><p>Daeron looks back at him, his arms crossed and his hair braided over his shoulder.</p><p>“Lindir, was it?”</p><p>“…yes,” Maglor says hoarsely.</p><p>“Your sister was worried. She is asleep over there.” He points to the corner where Eäraniel has curled up and is sleeping in a small pile of blankets. Daeron’s face is wooden, showing no expression. “You should not have been so ill from that injury,” He says simply. “I’ve seen that poison before and Men have recovered from it well enough. You should not have been so close to Mandos’ call.”</p><p>“…fine now.” Maglor turns his head back to the ceiling.</p><p>“You are alive now,” Daeron corrects. “Being fine is a debatable point.” There is a bit of shuffling and then his hands are on his back. “Drink this.”</p><p>A cup is put to his lips and Maglor obediently drinks the water down.</p><p>“Why are you helping?” He asks as he lies down again.</p><p>“Your sister looked desperate when she found me and you looked frankly pathetic. I may hate you quite intensely but your sister is…” He trails off before sighing. “She reminds me of my sister and I didn’t want to deprive her of her brother. Now go back to sleep.”</p><hr/><p>The next time Maglor wakes, Daeron is nowhere in sight and Eäraniel is sitting at the small table in the centre of the room, hunched over a cup of something and looking deep in thought.</p><p>Maglor pushes himself upright with a bit of struggle.</p><p>“Morning,” He says softly.</p><p>She looks up. “Good morning.” Her face and voice are carefully closed off and she looks more serious than he can remember her being. “How are you feeling?”</p><p>“Could be worse.”</p><p>She purses her lips and takes a sip of her drink. “It could also have been better.”</p><p>Maglor winces slightly. He knows exactly what she’s getting at.</p><p>“You haven’t been eating enough.”</p><p>He looks down at his hands guiltily, feeling vaguely like he was being told off.</p><p>“I’m fully grown, Maglor,” She says. “You don’t need to keep protecting me.”</p><p>“You’re my little sister. I should.”</p><p>“I’m not fragile.” She scowls at him. “I won’t break if I go without food for a day. <em>You</em>, on the other hand, have plenty of uncared for burns that won’t heal.”</p><p>“That’s not your fault.” He is very aware of the pain in his hands as he looks up again.</p><p>“I know that.” She crosses her arms. “But that doesn’t stop the fact that you’ve been injured for as long as I can remember and forgone food you need for me.”</p><p>“You were…a child.”</p><p>“And I’m not anymore. You seem to forget that sometimes.” She leans back in her chair. “What if you had <em>died</em> Maglor?”</p><p>“You could have found-”</p><p>Her chair hits the floor with a loud thud, cutting him off. “I don’t want to live with strangers. I want to stay with <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Maglor’s breath catches in his throat. “Why?”</p><p>“Why?” She asks incredulously, staring at him in disbelief. “<em>Why</em>? You’re my <em>brother</em> and I love you…I can’t believe you wouldn’t know that.”</p><p>He <em>does</em> know that. He just can’t fathom how or why after all the things he’s done. He doesn’t know how to tell her this.</p><p>Her frown deepens.</p><p>“You’re so stupid sometimes.” She slides her chair back and it screeches against the floor. “You raised me.” She stands. “You and our brothers denied the will of the Valar to try and save us – me and our…our sisters who aren’t even real elves! I know you love me to the point of sin, so why wouldn’t I love you back?”</p><p>They stare at each other for a moment.</p><p>“The things we did were awful, Mírë.” He whispers, breaking the silence, and hunches over his knees as the thoughts of his deeds come pouring in.</p><p>She groans, throwing her hands in the air in exasperation. “Don’t you see? I don’t <em>care</em>. You are one of the only people in this world that cared enough to try. You did those things because you knew us and…and no-one else would see us as us but <em>you</em> did and you were willing to…and you don’t even-” She breaks off, covering her mouth with a hand as tears well up in her eyes.</p><p>“Eäraniel,” He begins and begins to shuffle to the edge of the bed.</p><p>She growls threateningly and he shrinks involuntarily against the wall. In her anger, her skin glows brighter and she looks truly dangerous. “Did you not listen to a word I just said?” She huffs. “I’m just-” She pauses, struggling for words. “I’m going to go clear my head.”</p><p>She spins around, slamming the door behind her.</p><hr/><p>The silence of the hut is suffocating and after what Maglor thinks is about an hour, he finally has had enough.</p><p>With a bit of difficulty, he pulls himself upright and has to blink away a wave of dizziness. He doesn’t bother with boots but he does pull a cloak around his bare shoulders before stepping out of the front door.</p><p>The grass under his feet is wet with an early spring rainfall and in front of him lies the sea which is louder now that he has taken his leave of the house.</p><p>It is a nice place that Daeron has found himself, Maglor decides as he wanders to the cliff edge and sits, swinging his legs over the side. Below him, the sea laps on a sandy beach and he can see Eäraniel standing in the waves, looking out to the west.</p><p>She is right – she has grown up. But Maglor can’t help but see the little girl in the cave or think of how he had thrown her into the ocean that long time ago. He knows that he will have to let her go soon, just as he did the twins, but it had hurt so much when he had had that finally goodbye with <strike>Nandafinwë</strike> Elrond and <strike>Eärfinwë</strike> Elros that he does not want to think of that day.</p><p>She thinks that she wants to stay with him but there is a world out there to discover that would welcome her with far warmer arms if she was not in the company of a kinslayer four times over. She would see reason soon enough.</p><p>He sighs, shivering against a cold breeze that blows up. He probably should have put a tunic on.</p><p>“You shouldn’t be out of bed.”</p><p>Maglor starts as Daeron speaks, having appeared from seemingly nowhere. He doesn’t answer nor does he turn to face him, hoping that maybe Daeron would take the clue and leave.</p><p>“Your hair is in a dreadful state,” He says instead.</p><p>Maglor gestures at his hands which have been newly bandaged – Daeron <em>must </em>have seen the state they were in.</p><p>“Let me fix it.”</p><p>Daeron waits for Maglor’s nod of assent before he gently pulls Maglor’s hair from the messy braid and begins to comb through it with gentle hands.</p><p>Maglor relaxes at the familiar feeling, a soft melody coming to his lips. He half continues to watch Eäraniel as she begins to wander down the beach and half idly flits through old memories.</p><p>His and Daeron’s meetings in the First Age had been built on a mutual dislike: arguments followed by angry sex and then something…softer before they were both gone by morning. This meeting was different in almost every way but the easy chemistry they had had in the dark of night comes to them in this moment as Daeron’s deft fingers pull his hair into intricate braids and Maglor hums some long forgotten melody.</p><p>Guilt claws at his stomach as it always does – he should be faithful to the nís he left on the other shore. He has done so much to her already.</p><p>But Daeron is Daeron. Every time they are in the other’s presence, he is drawn to him like a moth to a flame and thoughts of what he should do become insignificant.</p><p>“I met your sister,” Daeron says suddenly, drawing Maglor from his thoughts and back into the presence. His eyes focus in on his sister, dancing in the edges of the water.</p><p>Maglor blinks, his song stopping abruptly. “Telumaien?”</p><p>“She went by Elmíreth then.” Daeron’s hands continue their gentle work. “Liltien – if that is, in fact, her name – is not at all like her.”</p><p>Maglor does not say anything. He wants desperately to ask after every detail that Daeron can remember but he knows that he does not deserve it.</p><p>“She was quiet and hid herself in Lú…Lúthien’s skirts for most of my visit. Barely spoke although I think that that was because I was new to her.”</p><p>“Eäraniel’s never been nervous in her life. She would probably poke a sleeping bear if she thought it would engage her in an interesting conversation.”</p><p>They fall once more into silence. Maglor can’t bring himself to start humming again.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” He says instead.</p><p>“For what?” Daeron’s voice is deceptively light even as his plaiting gets a bit tighter.</p><p>“A lot of things. My brothers. Mereth Aderthad. Doriath.”</p><p>“You don’t control your brothers and I don’t control my sister. Neither of us should be apologising for that or feeling any pain over it. And don’t apologise for Mereth Aderthad. As for Doriath…” He trails off and sighs.</p><p>For a long while, all Maglor can hear is the sea in its continuous rising and falling and the gulls crying a mournful lament.</p><p>“I can’t forgive you for that one,” Daeron says eventually. “You killed my family and destroyed my home. And it <em>was</em> my home, however long I had been away from it.”</p><p>“Of course,” Maglor says evenly, his eyes fixing on the horizon.</p><p>“But I know why you did. It’s the same reason I told Nana and Ada about Lúthien and her mortal. I thought that I was protecting her because we were the only ones who truly loved her. I thought that because he was mortal he would not be able to love her properly.” His hands still in Maglor’s hair. “I was wrong, of course. Love follows no pattern or understanding. It just is.”</p><p>Maglor sighs and they do not speak again until Daeron is done with his braiding.</p><hr/><p>After a week, the wound in Maglor’s leg is healed but they do not leave Daeron’s little house by the sea.</p><p>Eäraniel has taken to Maglor’s – well, they are or were or will be <em>something</em> in the region of romance or lovers – with the ease of a fish to water and Daeron is equally attached to the Silmaril. If they wish for it, Maglor will not complain to staying somewhere more permanent than they have been.</p><p>But a week it has been and they have not talked about their argument.</p><p>The perfect opportunity comes when they are in need of clothes. Daeron had lamented their terrible state of dress and at the first opportunity gifted them a gold coin to ‘please go get something that <em>doesn’t</em> look like it was dragged through a hedge, a fire, another hedge and then trampled on by a stampeding herd of horses’. Maglor had not enquired as to the origins of the money as he had been too busy defending their clothes.</p><p>The hour walk to the town was filled with little conversation bar the odd commentary on a plant or a bird or something equally similar and safe and ends with a song of concealment, hiding Eäraniel’s glowing and Maglor’s scars from curious mortal eyes and gossiping mortal mouths.</p><p>Town itself had been far more amiable. They had bought the clothes that they had, dare Maglor think it, needed and then found a bench to sit on and eat some ginger bread they had bought at the bakery.</p><p>They finish their bread and Eäraniel leans back on the bench, ignoring the strange look she is given by a passer-by. “What do you think of the name Gaeraniel?”</p><p>“I prefer the Quenya.” Maglor folds his hands on top of the parcels in his lap. “I would go by Makalaurë again if I didn’t feel so removed from the nér I was then.”</p><p>“That’s why I was thinking about it. I love my amilessë, don’t get me wrong, but it was given to me before…before Morgoth. It’s who I was when I was in his hold.” Her hands tense. “I have never managed to get away from the shadow that it cast. Since we’re settling down now-”</p><p>“We did <em>not</em> discuss that,” Maglor says, cutting her off.</p><p>“Don’t be stupid – it’s clear you’re infatuated.”</p><p>“Infatuated is rather a strong word.”</p><p>She shrugs, ignoring Maglor’s frown. “Anyway, <em>I</em> want to stay, <em>you</em> want to stay and <em>Daeron</em> wants us to stay, so I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that we’ll be staying. And since we’re staying, I wanted to start afresh.”</p><p>Maglor looks at her from the corner of his eye. She is staring resolutely forward, her expression woodenly blank. “Will that help you?” He asks.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“You have a Sindarin name already,” Maglor says.</p><p>“Liltien is not me, just as Lindir is not <em>you</em>.” She kicks a stone and it skitters into the road. “It is an escapist name – who I am when I want an hour or two away from being me. This,” She gestures down at herself. “Is Liltien. She is a completely normal elf, made in a completely normal way, who looks completely normal. I like being her every now and again but that’s not <em>me</em>.”</p><p>Maglor nods. “And being Eäraniel is too drowned in the past?”</p><p>“Yes. Exactly! I can’t be either of them without it weighing on my mind.”</p><p>“Maedhros said that,” Maglor begins, thinking back to the healing tent by the lake. “In the years after his captivity. He could not be Maitimo or Russandol because both had too much expectation. None of us, mind you, were ever quite our ataressi-”</p><p>“They do feel more like titles than names,” Eäraniel agreed.</p><p>“Exactly.” Maglor shifts slightly on the hard bench. “It was Finno who came up with a solution. A little bit of both names – a bit of the leader Maitimo and a little bit of the brother Russandol. He was neither of them with the new name and yet also a bit of both of them. Of course,” Maglor adds. “That might not work for you. Aeraniel is a perfectly good name but I thought I’d tell you.”</p><p>She looks thoughtful for a moment. “I’ll…I think that I shall think on it.” She stands, dusting off her dress. “Let’s go home.”</p><hr/><p>Supper that night is fish caught and cooked by Daeron in the day and bread Maglor bought from the bakery at his bequest.</p><p>“Lillaer.”</p><p>The relative silence of the table is broken and Maglor looks at his sister in momentary confusion.</p><p>She grins back at him. “That’s what I want to be called. Lillaer.”</p><hr/><p>It is a quiet night and Maglor can’t sleep.</p><p>He tries – he tries for a good long while – before he decides such efforts are fruitless. He untangles himself from Daeron (and really, <em>why</em> he insisted on sharing the bed when Maglor really wouldn’t mind sleeping on the floor until a better solution was put in place, Maglor would never know) and takes his leave of the hut.</p><p>The stars shine above him, dancing around the full moon.</p><p>He makes his way over the grass and then down the winding path to the beach. The water is still as it reflects the night sky back at it.</p><p>He steps forward, so the ocean laps around his feet and ankles, getting the cuffs of his trousers wet.</p><p>There is a certain peace in standing here: he sees why Eära…Lillaer likes it so much.</p><p>He hugs his arms around himself.</p><p>He misses Maedhros and all his brothers and his other two sisters. He has done some terrible things and there are many, many people he needs to talk to. Things he needs to do, places he needs to be.</p><p>But right now, he is just grateful that someone brought him Lillaer and she loves him just as much as he loves her. Despite the past and for it.</p><p>“Thank you,” He whispers and as he turns away, he thinks he might have seen someone peeking from the waves.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Non-Canon Names:<br/>Mírë - Short for Mírifinwendë<br/>Solórë - Surf Woman (Quenya)<br/>Cantasië - Song of Comfort (Quenya)<br/>Miri - Short for Mirlas<br/>Mirlas - Jewel Leaf (Sindarin)<br/>Aelineth - Lake Woman (Sindarin)<br/>Nandafinwë - Finwë of the Valley (Quenya)<br/>Eärfinwë - Finwë of the Sea (Quenya)<br/>Liltien - Dancing Woman (Quenya)<br/>Gaeraniel - Sea Wandering Daughter (Sindarin)<br/>Lillaer - Dancer of the Sea (Sindarin)</p><p>Quenya Translations:<br/>Nís - Female Elf<br/>Selernya - My sister (Informal)<br/>Nér - Male Elf</p><p>Sindarin Translations:<br/>Hanar - Big Brother<br/>Nana - Mother (Informal)<br/>Ada - Father (Informal)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Asta</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello all!</p><p>So, I had a <i>lot</i> of ideas for this chapter (a few of which I had to drop, much to my dismay) which took forever to streamline into something that - I hope - makes sense. (And how do elvish children work? <i>I</i> don't know)</p><p>One last chapter of this and then a spin one-shot, maybe two-shot (maybe more, I am nothing if not unpredictable) of the Ring Babies AU (also by <a href="https://ibrithir-was-here.tumblr.com/">ibrithir-was-here</a> on tumblr), which also occurs around this AU.</p><p>Thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviacat3/pseuds/oliviacat3">oliviacat3</a> for beta'ing as always.</p><p>And I hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Narewen is beginning to forget.</p><p>She has spent so long in this stone form that she thinks she is beginning to <em>become</em> the stone rather than…</p><p>Whoever she was before.</p><p>She would change back. She would greatly <em>like</em> to change back but there is danger out there.</p><p>She doesn’t know how she knows that just as she doesn’t know how she thinks and just as she doesn’t know <em>why </em>she is a stone when she can feel limbs that do not exist.</p><p>She – and she had a name, she is sure – is beginning to forget.</p><hr/><p>She is warm and fuzzy and everything feels safe for the first time (ever? She does not know). She feels herself shift and change and then she is sitting somewhere soft and comfy and looking at a strange creature who makes weird noises.</p><p>It points at her and says something.</p><p>She blinks back at it.</p><p>It keeps doing this until.</p><p>“What is your name lass?” It asks in its low voice.</p><p>She blinks. She tries to remember but all she can remember are snippets of warmth and song and laughing voices of her…her family?</p><p>She shakes her head. “Don’t know.”</p><p>The creature turns around and has a conversation with the others with it. She looks at them curiously.</p><p>“I am Farin, son of Borin, at your service,” The first one says, bowing his hairy head.</p><p>“What are you?” She asks curiously, sitting up onto her knees and leaning closer.</p><p>“A dwarf, lassie. And what are you?”</p><p>“An elf.”</p><p>“Aye!” The creature – the dwarf – laughs heartily. “I know few elves but I know they do not turn into finely cut gems.”</p><p>She frowns. “I <em>am</em> an elf. Atto said so.” At least, she thinks so – her memory is really very hazy.</p><p>“If that is what you say. I shall take your word for it.”</p><p>It does not sound like he – and she is fairly certain that this Farin person <em>is</em> a he – really believes her but she shall take what she is given.</p><p>“But you need a name, whatever you are.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “How about Asta? It is not an uncommon name among our womenfolk.”</p><p>She thinks about it for a moment and, finding nothing wrong, nods. “It’s nice. I like it.”</p><p>“Then Asta you shall be.”</p><hr/><p>“Right,” Farin says, dusting off Asta’s new clothes. The light metal in her hair tinkles when his hands come up to fix her braids. “You know what you have to do?”</p><p>Asta nods. “I must introduce myself as Asta and I must curtsey.”</p><p>“Exactly. I shall do all the rest of the talking so you have nothing else to worry about.” Farin offers her his hand and she takes it, letting him lead her through the huge doors in front of them.</p><p>Other dwarves follow them but Asta doesn’t notice them. The room they have entered is huge and one of the most breath-takingly beautiful place she has ever seen. The blues and greens and golds run through the stone and it is lit by some light she cannot pinpoint. She would have stopped walking to gape if she hadn’t been being pulled along by Farin.</p><p>She forgets what she is meant to be doing and stops when Farin lets go of her hand.</p><p>Farin nudges her gently and she looks forward again. There are one…three…six dwarves sitting on the thrones in front of them, all dressed in great finery and looking at her with their ambiguous expressions, hidden behind their beards.</p><p>Asta stumbles into something between a curtsey and a bow as Farin says something in the guttural tongue of his people.</p><p>There is a long silence when she straightens until Farin whispers: “Your name, lass.”</p><p>“Asta,” She whispers and it seems to echo around her with a great sort of finality.</p><p>One of the dwarves in front of her says something sharply and Farin says something back with equal bite. A dwarf beside the one who first spoke puts a calming hand on his wrist and then says something softer.</p><p>Asta begins to lose track of the conversation as her mind wanders to the grand hall around her and how her eyes are beginning to feel heavy and how she would really quite like something to eat or to be able to get off her aching feet.</p><p>She yawns, covering it with both of her hands in an attempt to appear polite.</p><p>The hall falls silent once more as all the attention is on her again.</p><p>The dwarf who calmed the other stands from her seat after a short word and comes to kneel beside her.</p><p>“Hello Asta,” She says. “I’m Malja, Queen of this mountain.”</p><p>“‘Highness.” Asta curtseys again on instinct, bowing her head with the proper respect and holding her hands to her chest as was polite. “May a star shine upon the hour of our meeting and may you continue to reign with honour and beauty and wisdom.”</p><p>“You are very polite for such a little one. Can you tell me where you learnt your lovely manners?”</p><p>“Ammë, I think. I can’t really remember, ‘Highness.” She rubs her nose awkwardly before remembering that she wasn’t supposed to do that in polite company.</p><p>“Aye, well, you look very tired Asta. Would you like somewhere to sleep?”</p><p>“That would be nice, ‘Highness.”</p><p>She slips her hand into Malja’s and lets herself be led away.</p><p>She feels her eyes grow heavy as they walk and soon she is half-aware that she really isn’t moving at all. She is picked up and she leans herself against the warm shoulder she finds herself on, someone’s braid finding its way into her mouth.</p><hr/><p>Asta is a fast learner – she knows this well for someone in the deep recesses of her memory praises her for it. With the help of Malja and Farin and Jansí the archivist, she picks up the language of the dwarves (Khuzdul, she was told it was called) quickly enough.</p><p>She lives with the royal family in a wing of the mountain. She spends most of her time with Frerin, particularly after she gets through the language barrier, and she discovers much of the mountain with him as they hide from angered residents and they giggle together and plot and follow the very serious Thorin around pestering him relentlessly with questions.</p><p>Her lessons she has separate from Frerin – likely due to the chaos they are prone to create together. She is taught in part by Marí Lomrul, an archive worker who teaches her lessons, and in part by Dania, who teaches her the correct etiquette for a dwarvish princess.</p><p>Thrór lets her watch him in the forge; Thráin lets her watch meetings (even if they are terribly boring); and Malja lets her practise her reading with her in the library.</p><p>They have easily taken her under their wing and Asta can’t remember a time when they weren’t her family.</p><p>Almost.</p><p>Sometimes, when she is lying in her room with only the light of the dying fire lighting up the large space, she misses something.</p><p>It is from her life before which continues to get more and more distant in her memory. The presence of someone – or is it more than one? – beside her in the bed or a breeze that she almost misses through large open windows or music that sings to her or warm fur or…or…</p><p>She’s beginning to forget these things, even in the quiet of night.</p><hr/><p>Asta watches Thrór for nearly half-an-hour before he realises that she is there.</p><p>“Rakl’aban, you are not supposed to be here,” He says in his deep rumbling voice. Asta juts out her chin as she stares him down with her arms crossed.</p><p>“You won’t let me take an apprenticeship so I’m going to do it myself.”</p><p>Thrór sighs, setting his hammer down and ignore the cooling metal on his anvil. “Asta, you are not old enough for an apprenticeship yet,” He says, repeating the same argument he has been repeating since she started asking.</p><p>She frowns. “That’s not fair. I’m the same age as Frerin and <em>he</em> started his silver-working apprenticeship nearly a year ago!”</p><p>“You aren’t a dwarf, Asta. You don’t grow the same as us.”</p><p>“You don’t know <em>what</em> I am,” She retorts. “And I can do everything that is required of an apprenticeship – I can memorise information, I can clean a forge or anything really, I’ll work really hard, I’ll-”</p><p>“Asta.”</p><p>Asta trails off, a frown still on her face.</p><p>“I – and all our family – care for you greatly. You are one of our own.” Thrór doesn’t need to kneel down to get to her height anymore. He puts a hand on her shoulder. “We know you are capable. You are cleverer than many dwarves I know. I know you want this – you have been asking for a long time – so later we will talk about it.”</p><p>Asta grins and leaps forward to hug him tightly.</p><p>“Aye, lass. We haven’t agreed on anything yet,” He grumbles good-heartedly and Asta smiles: she knows this means he’s practically given in already.</p><hr/><p>Malja is in the library as she always is.</p><p>Asta drops a book on the table the queen is working at and slips onto the chair opposite.</p><p>“Good morning Malja,” She says cheerily, opening the book to the index and searching for gold. She does know the properties perfectly well but she supposes it is worth getting her assignment done as well as possible, considering Róskva gave her the whole morning.</p><p>“Good morning Asta.”</p><p>Asta takes out her pen and paper and begins making her notes.</p><hr/><p>Muffins in hand, she and Frerin slip into an alcove, muffling their giggles as the poor kitchen apprentice runs right past their new hiding place.</p><p>Once certain that he is gone, they burst into laughter.</p><p>“We haven’t done that in <em>ages</em>,” Asta complains after a bite of the still-warm muffin.</p><p>“I <em>know</em>. We have to be all responsible because we’re apprentices now.”</p><p>Asta rolls her eyes but laughs all the same. “You know, apprenticeship is quite fun too, you have to admit that.”</p><p>“Sure, sure.” Frerin waves his hand. “For <em>you</em> maybe – you’ve always seemed to love metalwork. Your apprenticeship is perfect for you. But I can’t seem to find what I want. I’ve been through nearly four different ones in the last three years.”</p><p>“Maybe you just weren’t made for the forge,” Asta suggests, picking a berry from the muffin and popping it into her mouth.</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a prince of Erebor. My family has always done forge work.”</p><p>Asta finishes her mouthful. “That’s nonsense. Your grandmother is a scholar and your mother and all <em>her</em> family have all been broiderers. You aren’t even the heir – you can practically do what you want. Next time you change – and don’t give me that, I know you will – ask to do something completely different. Maybe cooking.”</p><p>“And face the wrath of Flykra? No thank you.”</p><p>Asta snorts. “OK, so maybe not <em>that</em> but you get the gist.”</p><p>“Maybe. I’ll think about it.”</p><p>“You know I’m right.”</p><p>He shoves her gently in the shoulder and she chokes a bit on her muffin as she laughs.</p><hr/><p>Asta holds up the finished circlet and appraises it critically, her eyes narrowed.</p><p>The diamond is dead centre, kept in place by a perfectly symmetrical web of flowers and leaves that narrows into a pair of twisting vines.</p><p>Asta can find no fault with it. She grins, content with her work.</p><p>“And just in time,” She say to herself as she wraps it up so that it doesn’t get scratched in her bag.</p><p>“Just in time for what?”</p><p>Unfazed by her master’s sudden appearance, she turns. “Dís’ ninth birthday. I needed to make her something.”</p><p>“How long have you been working on it?” Róskva asks, putting on her apron and gloves and coming into the forge to her own station. “I’ve seen you around here a lot after working hours.”</p><p>“A week, about.”</p><p>“And before that?”</p><p>“Just…tinkering.” Asta doesn’t know how else to explain that the idle smithing she did brought back small snippets of memories from before that she had thought were completely lost and how enticing it was when that smell or sound or colour came to her.</p><p>Róskva smiles from beneath her beard. “And <em>that</em>, my dear apprentice, is exactly what I wanted to hear. You are attentive to your studies and have come very far in the years under my tutelage and the fact that you do so much in your free time makes me believe that you are ready for your final assessment.”</p><p>Asta blinks. “Really?”</p><p>Róskva laughs at that. “Yes, Asta. You deserve it.”</p><hr/><p>“Asta.”</p><p>There is a gentle knock on Asta’s bedroom door.</p><p>“Come in!” Asta calls, not moving from where she had curled herself up on the windowsill of the high window in her room. She is lucky to live so close to the side of the mountain.</p><p>“What are you doing all the way up there?” Dania asks and even though Asta doesn’t look down, she can hear the single hand that she has on her hip.</p><p>“I’m looking at the stars.” Asta splays her fingers on the glass so that the brightest star in the sky sits between her fore and middle finger.</p><p>Dania huffs softly. “I’m coming up to you,” She says and Asta half listens at the thuds as Dania makes her way up the rickety ladder of the table and two chairs that Asta made to get up here.</p><p>She settles herself opposite Asta on the thick windowsill with a huff. Asta gives her a small smile without taking her eyes off the sky. The star between her fingers twinkles.</p><p>“Do you want to talk about it?” Dania asks softly.</p><p>“No.” She wouldn’t know where to start anyway, how to explain this yearning to be <em>there</em>, wherever <em>there</em> was.</p><p>“OK.” Dania gently pats her wrist and leans back against the edge of the window, looking out towards the forest. “You can always tell me if there’s anything on your mind.”</p><p>“I know.” Her eyes flicker slightly towards Dania. “I would, I just…” She waves vaguely with her free hand and slumps against the windowsill.</p><p>Dania smiles and nods and leaves it at that.</p><hr/><p>Asta is in the forge when the call goes up.</p><p>The first thing she does is run straight to the throne room, past crowds of dwarves and very aware of the grime on her face and the state of her clothes and hair and how her skin glows brighter than it usually does.</p><p>She doesn’t care: the safety of her family is the most important thing.</p><p>“Dragon!” Someone yells and the noise in the corridor increases tenfold as she bursts into the throne room.</p><p>Thrór stands in the middle, looking lost in the centre of his treasure. Thráin is trying to convince him to get out, whispering in low voices as soldiers rush to and fro.</p><p>Asta meets Thrór’s mad eyes and takes a step back.</p><p>“Dragon attack!” Someone else yells and the halls shake. Fear grips her stomach as she hears a roar. She knows…she knows that roar. She heard – or she felt it – before, in the darkness, before she was rescued.</p><p>Something deep and dark and terrible that makes her want to simultaneously throw up and curl into a ball and never move again.</p><p>She squeaks (a terribly undignified noise), taking another step back and covering her ears and her face and everything, trying to make herself as small as possible.</p><p>She doesn’t want to go back, she doesn’t want to go back, she doesn’t want to go back-</p><p>The hubbub around her begins to clear as a crystalline stillness comes over her, bringing with it the peace of an undisturbed underground lake, lit only by hanging stalactites.</p><p>She sinks into it because it’s safe. It’s <em>safe</em>.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“Haru,” Narewen mumbles sleepily where she is leaning against her grandfather’s shoulder. She is vaguely aware of her sisters lying close by too. “Can you tell us the story of how you met Elwë again?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Finwë gently combs his fingers through Narewen’s hair. “Where we lived, the only light we had came from the stars and we measured time using the tides.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She snuggles deeper into his arms. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I had come to my cove to make pottery when, standing in the sea, I saw one of the most beautiful néri I had ever laid my eyes on standing in the receding water.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen falls asleep, the crackling of the fire and her grandfather’s gentle voice as good as a lullaby. </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“Narewen!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen giggles as she is caught by strong arms and lifted from the ground. Her older brother looks at her with a raised eyebrow.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Now, what were you doing?” He asks. Narewen dramatically lowers her voice.</em>
</p><p><em>“I was going to look at the </em>flowers<em> Tyelko.”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Which flowers, gremlin?” He shifts her onto his hip and she wraps her arms around his neck.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“The blue ones you showed me yesterday.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“All on your own? It’s very brave of you to go into the forest all by yourself.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen nods. “I’m very brave,” She agrees.</em>
</p><p><em>“But I’m not.” Tyelkormo shakes his hair over his shoulder. “Will you, my very, </em>very<em>, brave sister, accompany me so that I may also see the flowers?”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Yep!” She wiggles and he puts her down. She takes his hand and grins up at him. “Come on! I’ll show you where they are!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tyelkormo smiles back and lets himself be dragged off.</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“Done!” Tyelperinquar declares, sitting up from where he lies. Narewen scoots forward to get a better look at the drawing, taking Tyelperinquar’s braid from her mouth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She frowns. “I’m very upside down.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s just because you’re looking at it wrong. Here, let me just…” He spins the paper around and the drawing suddenly makes a lot more sense. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s me!” She grins up at him. “That’s me!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Tyelperinquar grins back. “It is you!”</em>
</p><p><em>Narewen snatches it up from the ground and totters to her feet. “I’m going to show Haru! He’ll </em>love<em> it!”</em></p><p>
  <em>“Really?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Mhm.” She takes Tyelperinquar’s hand and pulls him out the room. </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Narewen tugs on the hem of Ambarussa’s shirt.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Amba, can I have a cookie?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ambarussa looks down at her and she can see a smudge of chocolate on his face.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He smiles, pushing loose hair from his face and picks her up, putting her on the table. “They’re a little warm right now Altë. But you can help me and Russa decorate them if you want.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Minyarussa!” Another voice calls from the cupboard. “I can’t find the icing sugar!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh you’re impossible,” Ambarussa mutters and Narewen sucks on her thumb as she watches her older brother disappear into the cupboard as well.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He is replaced by the other Ambarussa who pokes her on the nose as he starts clearing up old bowls. She giggles, swinging her legs happily.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ambarussa gives her a bright smile before he wipes off a smidge cookie batter off a spoon with his finger and gives the implement to Narewen who licks it.</em>
</p><p><em>“The bag was </em>literally<em> right in front of your face Atyarussa, I can’t believe you – hey, don’t do that! Ammë will never forgive us if you don’t eat supper.”</em></p><p>
  <em>He tries to snatch the spoon back but Narewen just giggles and holds on tighter.</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>The water ripples where the fish swim. Narewen giggles when they nibble at her fingers, trailing in the water.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Eäraniel frowns at her. “Sil, you’ll scare them off.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No I won’t,” Narewen replies, very sure of herself as she spins around to lie on her back. “They like you too much.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’re silly.” Eäraniel takes her hand from the water and sits upright, tossing her hair in an imitation of Makalaurë.</em>
</p><p><em>“</em>You’re<em> silly.”</em></p><p>
  <em>Eäraniel sticks her tongue out and Narewen returns the gesture.</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Makalaurë finishes his lullaby with a final strum on his harp. Narewen thinks that Telumaien and Eäraniel have fallen asleep in the bed behind her but she is too sleepy to turn over and check.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Goodnight,” He whispers and leans over on the bed. Narewen doesn’t know what he’s doing before he presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“G’night,” Narewen mumbles back and shifts deeper under the blankets. The effects of the music are already pulling her deep into the grasp of Irmo’s realm.</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Nerdanel hums as she braids her daughter’s hair. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen sits as still as she can but it is difficult as the time crawls on and on. Despite her best efforts, she is wiggling around by the time that Nerdanel has finished one side. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Can I get up now?” She asks as Nerdanel takes her hands away for a moment and she laughs. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yenya, I haven’t finished yet. You can’t go to a party with half finished hair.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes I can. No-one will stop me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With a smile, Nerdanel gently pushes Narewen’s head forward. “I would stop you. It’s important for a princess to look her best at all times.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen groans. “Well then, maybe I don’t want to be a princess.”</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“You,” Curufinwë says, lifting Narewen neatly from her hiding place, “are not supposed to be here.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen pouts, half-heartedly kicking at her brother’s leg. “I want to watch. Atto lets me watch.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Curufinwë makes an inscrutable face. “You aren’t allowed in the forge,” He repeats. “and certainly not without someone with you. It’s dangerous.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I won’t touch anything! I promise!” She tries her best pleading eyes but Curufinwë remains unfazed. </em>
</p><p><em>“No. Ammë would be furious if she found out. None of us were allowed to even look through the window until we were at </em>least<em> twenty. You’re very lucky to have had Atto show you anything.” </em></p><p>
  <em>She sighs and slumps dramatically on his shoulder in a last ditch attempt to win over Curufinwë’s pity but, unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t push your luck Altë,” He advises as he carries her away from the enticing door into the forge. </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“…and I’m just saying Rin, it’s very sketchy.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen, who had wandered away from the picnic she was having with the twins and her sisters and their mother, followed the sound of voices and gentle lute playing. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s Melkor: we all know he’s sketchy.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes, but this in particular…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen rounds a corner and comes out into a part of the flower gardens that is filled with yellow roses. There is a nís tending one of the bushes, her dark hair tending one of the bushes, her dark hair bound back by a head scarf: this, Narewen is fairly sure, is Rinwendë, Curufinwë’s wife. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>There is another nís sitting on the bench who is the one playing the lute: Narewen knows that this is Cantasië, Maglor’s wife, for she has accompanied them many times accompanied Maglor quite a lot when he has spent time with them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Narewen,” Canatasië says and stands up. “I though you were with your mother today.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I was bored.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“So you ran away? You might have got lost Narewen.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I didn’t though.” She sticks out her chin obstinately. “And now I’ve found you, so I can’t be lost.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cantasië looks like she is going to argue but she is stopped by Rinwendë. “That makes sense. Come here Narewen, I’ll show you how to prune this bush.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Are you sure that’s a reasonable thing to be teaching a three-year-old?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m four,” Narewen corrects and comes to stand beside Rinwendë. </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>The light of Telperion slides in through the gap in the curtains. Beside her, swamped in blankets and sheets, Eäraniel and Telumaien are asleep – Narewen knows because their breathing is slow and steady and their minds are fuzzy where they connect to hers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She can’t sleep. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She tries very hard but eventually she decides that she isn’t going to and that she is going to find someone. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Not Makalaurë – he would just sing at her – and not her parents, who don’t like being disturbed. Tyelkormo is on a hunting trip with Curufinwë and Tyelperinquar, so she can’t go to them.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She’ll go to Maitimo she decides. He always seems to know what to do. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She slips out of bed, her feet landing on the soft rug of her bedroom floor. She makes sure she is very quiet as she opens the door and steps into the corridor. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>It’s a lot quieter than it is under Laurelin’s light – however faint the light is out here – and almost cold. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen shivers but plies on regardless, stopping when she comes to her brother’s doorway. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She knows it’s his because it’s painted gold and white and those are his colours. There is a plaque on the door and Maitimo had once said that it had his name written on it but Narewen is small and can’t read yet so she can’t be sure. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She knocks and it echoes slightly down the long hallway. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The door opens a moment later to reveal her brother, his red hair in disarray and his night clothes rumpled and creased. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He yawns, rubbing his eyes. “Hello Altë. What are you doing here?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She rubs her nose. “Couldn’t sleep.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maitimo gives her a small smile and crouches down to be at her level. “Do you want to stay with me tonight?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She nods and follows him to the bed in the corner, curling up beside him under the blanket. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She falls asleep almost at once, safe in her brother’s embrace. </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“Makalaurë!” Eäraniel perks up at the sight of her – although she will never admit it – favourite brother. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen watches her jump up and run across the lawn to embrace his leg before he got into the back door. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Telumaien wrinkles her nose. “She shouldn’t run, it’s too hot,” She says, tugging at her dress. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen stifles a laugh at how like their father Telumaien looks in that moment, her back all straight and her face all scowling.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Telumaien spots something and her face changes at once to a grin. “Look! A bird! I think it’s a swan.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen turns around and sure enough, there’s a big, white bird waddling it’s way across the grass. “I wander what it’s doing.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Telumaien leans in conspiratorially and whispers: “Maybe it’s a spy for Manwë.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen gasps dramatically but then falls into giggles she can’t keep in. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Telumaien scowls when the swan startles and flies away. “You scared it!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Did not!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Did too!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Did not!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Did too!”</em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“Watcha making?” Narewen asks, draping herself over the chair next to her brother and looking at him curiously. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“A tapestry.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What of?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Us.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Who’s us?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Our family.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ooh, can I see?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Carnistir sighs. “I suppose, come here.” He lifts up the fabric and pats his lap. Narewen scrambles up and grabs one of his braids to chew on while he explains. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He doesn’t pause before he begins to point out different parts of the fabric, starting from the bits with the most colour and ending on the bits which are really just outlines. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“So that’s Ammë and Atto. And that’s Maitimo and Makalaurë and Cantasië. And that’s going to be me. And that’s the beginnings of the twins. And I’m going to put Curufinwë, Rinwendë, Tyelkormo and Tyelperinquar over here. And you and your sisters will be here. Now, did that satisfy your curiosity?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Watcha going to put there?” Narewen points to a piece of empty space and Carnistir sighs but continues to answer her questions.   </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>“And then you’re done.” Fëanáro finishes and looks up. “Did you understand that?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen nods. “Can I have a go?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fëanáro laughs. “You’re a little bit small Altafinwendë. But this way you’ll know everything you’ll need to know for when you are big enough.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Narewen sighs and swings her legs, her heels hitting the leg of the table she’s sitting on. “I want to try now.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I want never gets.” Fëanáro presses a kiss to the top of her head. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“But I can’t wait! It’ll be ages until I’m big!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fëanáro smiles and ruffles her hair. “I’m afraid you will have to. After all, patience is a virtue.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And virtue is a grace,” Narewen adds, remembering the rhyme her mother says every time she says she’s bored.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And grace is a little girl who didn’t wash her face.” Fëanáro gently taps the tip of her nose. “Now, let’s go find your sisters and get washed up before supper. I think Telufinwë is cooking the venison that Turcafinwë hunted this morning.”</em>
</p><hr/><p>It is less soft, changing back to her mortal form this time.</p><p>She is in warm hands, that feel safe and like home, and having had the absence of that for so long, it brings herself back to full reality.</p><p>“Oh…ow!” Still slightly disorientated by the change, it takes her a moment to realise that she has been dropped. “Careful!”</p><p>“An elf!”</p><p>She blinks and looks up, into the rather confused eyes of…well, she’s not entirely sure what, he looks rather like a Mannish child if not for the odd looking feet and the deeper voice than one would expect of a child.</p><p>“An elf. It turned into an – and she <em>glows</em> – I can’t…oh no, oh no – no! No! We do not panic, I am sure…OK…I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation.” He huffs a short exhale and smiles politely in her direction. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service.”</p><p>“Asta Rak…<em>Arkenstone</em>, at yours and your family’s.” She just manages to remember <em>not</em> to speak the tongue of the Dwarves in front of someone who was clearly <em>not</em> a dwarf. She rubs her forehead against a headache that is beginning to grow. “What were you doing with me?”</p><p>Bilbo looks a bit embarrassed, fiddling his thumbs together. “You see, trading the Arken-uh,” He cuts off, biting his lips. “Well it will help stop everyone going to war.”</p><p>“Well of <em>course</em>,” She begins, rolling her eyes and pushing herself to a stand. “Nothing says <em>diplomacy</em> like trading away a young girl.”</p><p>Bilbo’s cheeks go redder than they already are.</p><p>“Right Mr Baggins, I should like to go back to the mountain now, seeing as it is my home and you so unceremoniously took me from it.”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“No? You don’t order me around.”</p><p>“You won’t…” Bilbo huffs. “There was a dragon, see, and it took the mountain. I joined a party of dwarves to take it back but since then they have all…how do I explain this…they have lost sight of…well it is not very pleasant. Thorin Oakenshield-”</p><p>“Thorin got an epithet?” Asta asks, cutting Bilbo off at the thought of the uptight dwarf she knew getting such a name.</p><p>“Yes, and if you let me finish,” Bilbo starts irritably and Asta has the decency to look at least a little bit abashed. “I would have to tell you that he is quite mad with the love of the gold and treasure in that mountain. He refuses to give even a slither of what is quite a sizeable amount to help the Men of Dale and would rather hoard it like the dragon that has just been vanquished. He awaits the arrival of his cousin and an army of more than five hundred so that he may fight the languishing men and their Elvish allies and I cannot see why <em>war</em> is what he now wants.”</p><p>Asta blinks as Bilbo breathes heavily and pushes his curly hair from his face. “I am sorry Miss Asta. It has been a trying few days and I had a bit on my chest.”</p><p>“No, that is quite fine.” She looks back at the mountain and then at Dale which sits rather hauntingly decrepit on the hilltop. “I suppose that I will take your advice. Please, lead the way.”</p><hr/><p>“A Silmaril, you’re a-” The elvenking – or Thranduil, as he had introduced himself – cuts himself off and rubs his forehead, looking as though Asta had just declared the end of the world. “So you’ve-” He cuts off again.</p><p>“Yes,” She says, fiddling with the hem of her shirt behind her back. It’s beginning to get quite chilly as she is still only dressed in her forge clothes which were made to keep her as cool as possible. “I am.”</p><p>“OK, well, there’s not much I can about that right now is there.” He stands. “Do you mind if we pretend that you are our captive?”</p><p>Asta weighs up the options in her head. “If it’ll end this conflict before it begins, I suppose I would not be opposed.”</p><p>“Good.” He gives her an assessing look before he sighs and pats her gently on the shoulder.</p><p>He looks up as the flap of the tent opens behind her and smiles. “Bard,” He says, addressing someone that she can’t see. “You said you had a bed free?”</p><p>Asta turns and sees the lord of Dale who smiles at her. She gets the distinct impression she’s being treated like a child but she does not argue as Bard leads her through the streets.</p><p>“I’m afraid you will have to share with my son and daughters as there really aren’t enough rooms that we know are structurally sound but otherwise you would have to sleep outside and it looks like it might start to snow at any moment.”</p><p>“You have children?” Asta asks, trying not to sound too much like she’s asking whether she’s about to be babysat.</p><p>Bard’s face softens. “Yes. They are the most precious things to me in this world. There’s my eldest, Sigrid; my son, Bain; and my youngest, Tilda.”</p><p>“And you’re wife?” Bard’s face falls and Asta hides a wince as she realises she probably shouldn’t have asked that. “Never mind, don’t worry.”</p><p>“It’s alright. It was a while ago now.” He stops walking. “Right, we’re here. Just go up the steps and you should find them.”</p><hr/><p>Asta decides, as she tries to sleep with the ever enticing starlight flowing into the room, that Bard’s children are nice.</p><p>Tilda is very excitable about everything and Sigrid looks constantly as if she is a moment away from mothering you and Bain is a bit grumpy but they are all kind and offer her one of the three makeshift beds in the room as Tilda sleeps with Sigrid most of the time anyway.</p><p>Asta sits up, fairly sure that they are all asleep, and slips on her boots and over tunic, borrowing Sigrid’s cloak as she makes her way down the stairs.</p><p>Outside, it is cold and quiet and Asta sits on the stone step leading into the house and stares up at the stars and that one bright one right in her line of sight. That faint longing fills her again and she reaches out, as if to pluck it right from the star and bring it back down to land to keep tucked away in her pocket.</p><p>She draws her legs up to her chest and sighs, leaning her chin on her knees. The star high above twinkles.</p><p>“Asta? As – oh, there you are, I heard you leave and thought something terrible had happened.”</p><p>Asta looks behind her and sees Bain standing there, looking a bit uncomfortable.</p><p>“I’ll just be…” He gestures vaguely behind himself while he looks at Asta for confirmation.</p><p>“You can stay, of you want,” She says instead, looking back at the sky. “If you can’t sleep. I’ve always found looking at the stars helps.”</p><p>“I…OK.” There are a few footsteps and then she sees him sit beside her in her peripheral vision. “The stars help you sleep?”</p><p>“Not really. But they feel like home and it’s comforting.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>She hums softly. “Particularly <em>that</em> one. The bright one.” She points to it before letting her arm drop. “That one’s mine.”</p><p>Bain laughs. “That’s the Star of Hope, Asta. I don’t think you can claim it as just yours.”</p><p>She frowns. “Yes I can. Watch me.”</p><p>“That star is the one everyone knows. They say that if you’re lost you can always follow it and it’ll bring you home.”</p><p>“That makes no sense.”</p><p>“I didn’t say it made sense. It’s just a story.”</p><p>Asta shrugs, keeping her eyes trained on the sky.</p><hr/><p>Asta rides beside Thranduil and Bard as they come to the mountain, her features hidden by the cloak. It was only through arguing with both kings that she was allowed to come at all, so she supposes hiding herself would not be so bad.</p><p>“Hail Thorin!” Bard calls as they come to a stop. “Are you still of the same mind?”</p><p>Asta can’t see Thorin with her head bowed so and she almost doesn’t believe that it could be him when he speaks next.</p><p>“My mind does not change with the rising and setting of a few suns. Did you come to ask me idle questions? Still the elf-host has not departed as I bade. Till then you come in vain to bargain with me.”</p><p>Stubborn, as always, but gruffer in tone and strangely haughty.</p><p>“Nothing that you or your friends have to offer.”</p><p>“You would not even return the treasure that belongs to them by right?”</p><p>A hush falls over the dwarves and Bard and the whispers of men and elves behind them as Asta looks up, her hood falling from her head. She swings off her horse and stands before the great gate.</p><p>Thranduil meets her eyes for a moment but makes no move to stop her even though she is going against their entire plan.</p><p>“Thorin Oakenshield,” She says, putting her hand behind her back and staring right up at his shocked face. “I didn’t know you went against your word.”</p><p>A crow calls somewhere high above them, the only thing cutting through the dead silence.</p><p>“<em>King</em> Bard,” Thorin says slowly, looking down at the Man and ignoring Asta. “Give her back.”</p><p>Asta laughs, furious that he should dismiss her so, before Bard can say anything. “I am a person, Thorin, and I will go where I bloody well please. I cannot be given and taken at someone else’s whims.”</p><p>“You belong with us,” He says and leans forward. “We who raised you.”</p><p>“I belong to no-one but myself. You promised the Men of Dale gold for their help and you keep hold of treasure that belonged to them before it was stolen by Smaug and mingled with your own.”</p><p>“So you are a traitor.”</p><p>“I am no traitor.”</p><p>“Other than that you side with thieves over your family.”</p><p>Asta feels her nails biting into the back of her hand. “Before you were my family, I had another who still live.” She speaks softly but it carries over the wind. “If you cannot be my family, I will look elsewhere.”</p><p>She regrets her words the moment she speaks them but she is as stubborn as any dwarf and does not take them back.</p><p>Thorin laughs lowly. “I cannot believe that Frerin held you in such high esteem.”</p><p>“I cannot believe that Frerin let you be a tyrant.”</p><p>“Frerin is dead!” Thorin takes a step back as Asta blinks in the momentary silence. “I will speak no more of this.”</p><p>“Fine, oh <em>King Under the Mountain</em>,” She says sarcastically and curtsies as mockingly as she can. “Sit on your throne and rot for all I care.”</p><p>She crosses her arms and glares at him as Bard clears his throat. “We give you until tomorrow to give us what you promised and if you do, we will depart from these walls. And if you do not, then we <em>will</em> attack.”</p><p>Thorin says nothing, sparing once last glance at Asta before he turns on heel and marches out of view.</p><hr/><p>When they returned to the Elven camp, Thranduil gave her a bow and quiver and told her to go shoot something. With no further explanation, he had wandered off to talk to one of his captains.</p><p>Asta had never shot a bow before but she did not need to be able to fire angry shots at a blank wall until the quiver was empty and she had to tug them out of the wall where they were spread across.</p><p>She doesn’t know how long Bilbo had been standing there but when she spun around after picking out the fourth volley of arrows, he was standing in the doorway looking a bit out of place.</p><p>“Miss Asta,” He starts. “I see you’re busy, I will just…”</p><p>“No, no, I’m fine, really.” She sighs, setting the bow on a rickety table nearby. “Come in.”</p><p>“Right.” He does as she says, closing the half broken down door behind him. “I had to leave Erebor.”</p><p>“Did Thorin threaten you?”</p><p>“No! No, he…doesn’t trust anyone anymore but I am sure I would have been safe if I stayed. But he was rude to you and I will not let that stand. And I do not wish to stay behind those stone walls to wither away. I need to return home soon for I have done what I was contracted to do.” He nods as if he is trying to convince himself of this too.</p><p>“I thank you for your loyalty, although we only met a few days ago.”</p><p>“Yes, well, it was important to me.” He nods again, shuffling his feet.</p><p>Asta smiles. “If it’s not too rude, may I ask what you are? I have been wondering for a while.”</p><p>“A hobbit of the Shire. And since we are asking prying questions, what are <em>you</em>?”</p><p>She shrugs, sinking to the dusty floor. “I am afraid I do not know Mr Baggins. I believe the Elvenking called me a Silmaril and the name is not unfamiliar to me but I cannot tell you what that really means.”</p><p>Bilbo hums thoughtfully and comes to sit next to her. “But can anyone truly describe who they are? I am sure that I couldn’t describe what a Hobbit is half as well as it deserves and there are far more of us than there are of you.”</p><p>She gives him a small smile but it falls quickly enough. “Do you think it will end in fighting?”</p><p>“I do not know.” He fiddles with the edges of his jacket. “The dwarves are stubborn – more so than they were on the journey here. It is as if they are under some enchantment.”</p><p>“Morgoth’s influence,” Asta says idly.</p><p>“Morgoth?”</p><p>“Pardon?”</p><p>“Who is Morgoth?”</p><p>Asta frowns. “I do not know. Nothing good. I think…I think it has something to do with why I was a jewel. There was this feeling of darkness and terror unlike anything I’ve felt before and…anyway, I’m not sure.”</p><p>They sit for a moment in silence.</p><p>“Thank you,” Asta says again. “Genuinely. You’re good company. It’s very strange here. I’ve missed decades and now I feel…displaced. Reality feels slightly off, like there are aspects that I know but aspects that are different and I don’t know: it’s nice to have a new friend. Fewer expectations.”</p><p>“I…thank you? You are good company too.”</p><p>Asta gives him a  conspiratorial smile. “Now, if there is going to be a battle, we’ll need a plan to stop it. Got any ideas?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Non-Canon Names:<br/>Asta - Female Dwarvish Outer Name<br/>Malja - Female Dwarvish Outer Name<br/>Jansí - Female Dwarvish Outer Name<br/>Marí - Female Dwarvish Outer Name<br/>Lomrul - Child of Lomrí<br/>Rakl'aban - Arkenstone/Precious Stone (Khuzdul)<br/>Róskva - Female Dwarvish Outer Name<br/>Flykra - Female Dwarvish Outer Name<br/>Dania - Female Dwarvish Outer Name<br/>Altë - Short of Altafinwendë<br/>Rinwendë - Dew Maiden (Quenya)</p><p>Quenya Translations:<br/>Haru - Grandfather (Informal)<br/>Néri - Male Elves<br/>Yenya - My daughter (Informal)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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